


Between Shadow and the Soul

by SteadyLittleSoldier



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Established Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gossip, Guilt, Hollywood, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Kissing in the Rain, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, PR stunt, Paparazzi, Secrets, Smut, Tabloids, Weddings, alpha Timmy, omega Armie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23175499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteadyLittleSoldier/pseuds/SteadyLittleSoldier
Summary: I loved him with every fiber of my being. So much so that being a separate entity from him was impossible for me to imagine. And he loved me dearly. But as he called my name, again and again, that night, I swore to myself that this was going to be the last time we would ever make love again.
Relationships: Henry Cavill/Armie Hammer, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer, Timothée Chalamet/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 404
Kudos: 235





	1. Chapter 1

I only felt the bed dip and I knew. I knew but he did not understand. I reached out and my palm glided over his smooth back as he got off the bed. I didn’t open my eyes, didn’t want to. I was tired, in every sense of the word. “Is it time already?” I mumbled. I heard a hum in reply.

“I have to get ready.” His voice was sleep-heavy. He was tired too. He came to my side of the bed and kissed my temple. “Get some more sleep, okay?”

Of course. What else I had left to do. I slipped back into slumber without effort. At least, in my dreams, he was with me.

When I awoke next, he was brushing my hair. I hummed to let him know that I was listening but was not going to get up. I knew he was ready; dressed in way too expensive clothes, fingers and wrists adorned with overpriced jewelry. He knew I hated this moment. Hated it when I was to stand at the door while people fussed around him, while he barely got the time to kiss me goodbye, then when he would walk to the elevator, look back at me and smile, his publicist or manager would scold him for not paying attention to the directions they were laying out, then they would leave and I would be left alone in unfamiliar and big hotel rooms, having nothing else to do but wait for him. So no, I did not want to get up or open my eyes. I was tired.

“Your fever seems to have gone,” he said after kissing my forehead. “Call the reception and someone will get you breakfast, okay?” I heard a fond smile in his tone. “Tell them you’re with me.”

“Won’t that be a problem?” I forced my groggy throat to speak.

“Babe, no…” he started but was soon interrupted.

“It will be,” said a female voice.

It jerked me fully awake. I spun my head around to look at her. It was his manager. I had thought we were alone. My shock was then replaced with anger. “I am _not_ comfortable with this,” I told him.

He was silent for a second, eyeing her; he did that a lot. “Karen, I told you to wait outside.”

Karen arches her brow. “Yes, and you were also supposed to be out of this door five minutes ago so nobody is keeping their word.”

I thumped back onto the bed and covered my ear with the comforter. I closed my eyes with every intention of falling back asleep. Or just for this room to be empty. “Please, just… go. I’m fine,” I told him.

“Karen, please,” he said, defeated.

I assumed she left because then Timmy leaned over my shoulder and, lifting the blanket, kissed my ear.

I breathed out. “I don’t care even if they insist on accompanying you to the toilets but I don’t want _my_ privacy invaded like this. I didn’t sign up for this.”

“I know,” he said as though shushing a grumpy child. He brushed my hair again. It almost lulled me back to sleep. But then, “I’ll be back around five.” He kissed my cheek but I turned to look at him. He looked beautiful. Dark blue sweater, I touched it, it was soft like his skin. His hair styled in lush curls in place of his natural rather frizzy bush. His freckles almost concealed. And his lips tinted orange. He looked into my eyes. He had said he loved them. Said he wanted them to be the first thing he saw in the morning. I saw that version of him now as his eyes lit up to see them. He caressed my cheek, unable to leave.

“Do you have interviews with her today?”

He nodded. I looked away. “Don’t look like that. It’s for work. All of it. I promise. Armie, look at me.” I did and he captured my lips. He kissed me as though he meant it. Always. Apologies, confessions – everything in a kiss. I let him glide his tongue into my mouth and caress the insides of my lips. “I really need to leave now. But we’ll have dinner together, okay? I love you.”

I nodded. He kissed my forehead one last time and left.

I could not go back to sleep knowing that in an hour, hundreds of pictures of them together would flood the internet. My alpha with someone else. While the world “aww”d in the comments, I would just stare at them, unblinking. Every press tour took him more and more away from me.

Sure enough, within an hour, there were pictures of them hugging, sitting together and laughing. Even their outfits were matching. The perfect celebrity couple. Beautiful, young people; elegant, tall alpha and his pretty, lithe omega. Their nonchalance, their pretense of not being the regular out couple because they “want private life to remain private” while showing the whole world how perfect and in love they were.

It was all fine. It was worth it. It was for work, as he said. And I was fine.

I watched the sunset over the concretes of the city. By the time Timmy walked up to me from behind, only a streak of pink from that sinking sun was visible in the sky. He sat behind me on the couch and kissed my shoulder, took the book from my hand and checked the title. “You already started a new one?”

I hummed. I had a lot of time these days; finishing a book in less than three days was not hard work. I leaned back and his perfume was a mingle of his own and all the people he had met that day. I nuzzled until I found my favorite spot, the scent gland below his ear where I could always find his own smell, just his. I took a deep breath. He smelled like mine. He chuckled and leaned down to smell me before kissing me.

“Did you have dinner?” he said.

“You said we’d have dinner together.”

“It’s late, I thought you’d… Do you wanna go downstairs? Joe said their restaurant isn’t half bad.”

I sighed. He was advised against taking me out in public, but he wouldn’t tell me that. He didn’t want to hurt me. I was tired of this pretense as well. I didn’t want to fight. I rested my head against his shoulder and kept my eyes closed. “I’m not hungry.”

“You will be. In the middle of the night. And we don’t have much in the room.”

I shrugged in answer. I knew he understood.

“I’m sorry this trip is shitty. I thought we would…”

“You think that every time. You drag me out, and I’m cooped up in hotel rooms.”

He caressed my arms before wrapping his around my middle. “Don’t give me a hard time about this,” he said with his lips pressed against my temple.

“Have I ever?”

“You’re too good to me.”

“I just…”

“Talk to me.”

I thought for a while, composed the right sentence so as not to disturb this tranquility. “I wish you weren’t ashamed of me.”

I heard a sigh leave his mouth. “We’ve been through this, Armie. This is-”

“This is for work, I know. And I support that. I want you to be successful,” I said calmly.

I could hear him think. Whatever he was going to say next, it would be for my sake alone. “I am not ashamed of you. How could I ever be ashamed of you? Have you seen yourself in the mirror?” he forced a chuckle to break the tension.

As a matter of fact, I did see myself in the mirror, more than was healthy. I stood before the mirror every morning and saw an omega trapped in an alpha’s body. I was six foot five inches tall, seven inches above my alpha. I was nine years his senior. I had unmanly blonde hair inherited from my mother, thick facial and chest hair that grew back faster than I could shave them and would shade the bit of skin where laid the mark Timmy left on me. I hated everything about my body. The part that I hated the most was that it chose such an alpha – an alpha whose arms should shield a deserving person and not one whose body barely fitted in his embrace. I hated that I was in love with him. And I felt selfish for whining when he was the one losing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are terms used in this chapter that you may find offensive. This is to clarify that the narrative is the character's and none of this is my (the writer's) personal viewpoint. The words used here have been chosen with care to reveal things about the character. I mean no offense. Love! :D

There was a time when I used to see a sliver of self-respect in my own eyes. Almost a decade ago, a director had mistaken me for an alpha and had decided to put me in a movie instantly. “Ken doll, I’m gonna make you famous,” he used to say. I was going to be the next big thing. I had long before distanced myself from my family and their fortune as having their omega son in the film industry was quite disagreeable for them. I needed this. So, I concealed my true-identity, changed my last name, found different ways to conceal my scent, displayed fake medical certificates. But your gender is not something you can fake so easily. About two years in, young and foolish as I was, I was found out. People were disgusted by me. I was a liar and an imposter. On top of that, I was an omega in an alpha body. An intersex.

My Timmy didn’t care about that.

Luca Guadagnino, a director whose eye I had caught, had reached out to me again when I was stuck at home - hiding from the paparazzi and drowning in bills - saying that he wanted me in his new movie. I was concerned. I thought he hadn’t heard. “I’m aware,” he had said simply with this thick Italian drawl. “I do not care about all that. Nor does Timothée.” Who’s Timothée, I’d asked.

I went to Italy to read the script with him and get ready for the shooting. It happened instantly between us. Once we had laid eyes on each other, we both knew there would never be anyone else for us. It was weird at first, dating an alpha who was not just younger but much smaller than I was. But slowly it all melted away. It didn't matter anymore who was spooning whom because you don't play a specific part when you are with someone. It is not a static thing that never changes. People have it wrong. Your relations and the people around, the dynamic – they always change. Otherwise, you wouldn't keep loving someone.

The movie fell apart, partly because of my involvement. But Timmy and I were together. He went on to shoot great movies for which he was recognized. He was a Hollywood heartthrob, a very big deal, and an award magnet. I was to hide now. Nobody could know he was dating the infamous Armand Hammer.

 _“Dating?!”_ Timmy had laughed spitefully as he paced restlessly. “We’re _marked!_ ”

He was infuriated the first time his publicist had told him to keep our relationship a secret. I was the only one who could finally calm him down. It was for the best. He cried in my arms for hours that night. “It’s not fucking fair,” he’d said. “You’re so…”

I was important to him, and by hiding me, us from the public, he had felt as though he was insulting and betraying me. But I didn’t mind back then. As long as he was with me, I told myself, I didn’t care what people saw or thought. Back then, we were both naïve and optimistic.

It was impossible to be a public figure and not let it ultimately affect our private life. Our society has molded our mindset in such a funny way that even when we say we do not care how people see us, it still scars and affects us. I cared that people hated me, that I disgusted them, because that meant I _was_ disgusting. I grew to hate seeing people, even friends, and thinking about what they might be thinking about me, how salacious our relationship might seem to them. I had very little money of my own; nobody wanted to employ me. I grew scornful, lost all respect for myself, and I hated myself for that. The only time I could relax was when I was with Timmy, because being alone with him meant that I was only his lover, not anyone's son, not anyone's brother, not anyone's friend, not a failed and damaged actor, not an abomination. He made me love myself.

But that, too, changed.

Old paparazzi pictures of us checking into a hotel together surfaced on the internet – something that didn’t matter when Timmy wasn’t famous but now was a big deal. People started talking, speculating. They had to do something, Timmy’s team. Then came she…

Rina Figgins was famous in her own rights. An incredible young actress, a beautiful omega. And up for some fake PDA. Slowly, everybody forgave Timmy for the company he kept, almost forgetting about the pictures. It’d been a year with this continued pretense. Now Rina and Timmy were finally in a movie together – something the public had been begging for.

Every press tour would be this. Me whining about wanting to stay home and get some work done, knowing all too well that Timmy would not buy it – how much work would a freelance writer have really – and hiding behind it the fact that it killed me every time he planned the tour as though it was a vacation, told me how we would go see the old churches, the mountains, the waterfalls, how we’d try the local cuisine together, and every time he would be told that there were too many paparazzi there, that he could be seen in public with me. It would kill me every time. And we were stuck in this loop. For a while, I searched for a solution. But there were none. There was no solution, but there _was_ an escape.

I went to bed, feeling feverish again. He went downstairs and brought back food. I didn’t touch any. And it was the same the next morning: him waking me up to say goodbye, ready, wearing something even more expensive, his manager hurrying him along. But this morning I told him I wanted to go out, walk around the city. We were to leave the next day.

This surprised him and a crease appeared between his brows. “But I have interviews all day.”

“I meant alone, Timmy.”

He frowned and the next second he was checking my temperature. “Are you feeling okay?”

I shrugged. I felt just fine. The fever seemed to come at night only, and I was used to the ache of heartbreak.

“Can’t you wait ‘til I get back?” He was worried but tried not to let it show.

“You’ll just find another excuse to not go.”

Timmy closed his mouth and looked out of the window. It was a bright day. I watched his pupils contracting, making space for his beautiful hazel iris. His mouth twitched. “You say you understand, and then… always, always...” He shook his head

“What I said,” I started calmly. “I wasn’t taking a jab at you. It was merely the truth.”

His breathing became shallower. The truth was hard for him to swallow. He shook his head. “I don’t want to fight.”

I shrugged. “Thank God.”

He didn’t appreciate my tone. He stared at me for a moment, and when no apologies came from me, he stood up and shrugged his jacket on. “Just be careful,” he said without meeting my eyes. “And you feel like reconsidering, for your own sake if not for mine, please wait ‘til I get back or call me, maybe I can get someone to go with you.”

“I’m not in heat and this isn’t the Stone Age.”

“I know.”

“And I am bigger than you are.”

This made him look at me again and I saw him grinding his teeth. “Do you realize that I’ll be worried sick all day?”

“Hence the reassurance.”

“Fuck…” he whispered loudly, and burying his face in his palm, he simply walked out of the room. Minutes later, he came back and thumped the bedside table with a bottle of lotion – a lotion that was supposed to suppress your scent for a couple of hours. I couldn’t help but laugh and look up at him as though to say _you can’t be serious._ But I saw defeat in his face shadowed by anger. “Don’t give me a hard time about this,” he repeated, begged. And before I could say how ridiculous it all was, he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: forgot to add that I am not throwing shade at anything because personally I think celebrities decide to share only a part of their lives with the public and I try to respect that. This is purely a (silly) work of fiction and does not represent the real people in any way.
> 
> Stay home, be safe, y'all!


	3. Chapter 3

“Armie, hey!”

I turned around, the belt of my camera dragging along my neck, and immediately smiled. It was Joe, Cynthia’s (who was Timmy’s co-star) alpha. They were staying in the next room. Joe and Cynthia were two of the very few people who knew about us. “Hey, man.”

“Got left behind as well?” said he, joking.

“Yeah, yeah,” I replied pretending to be busy checking if the door of the room had locked properly.

“Where you headed?” he said as we walked towards the elevator together.

“Um, I don’t really know. I'm just gonna walk around, take a few pictures, see if I find some material to write an article about maybe, I don’t know,” I shrugged. “You?”

“Oh, I was heading down to get lunch. But can I tag along? I don’t really have anything else going on, how pathetic is that?” He laughed.

A sense of relief washed over me, without which I wouldn't have realized I was tensed about anything. I had spent twenty-four years of my life before I met Timmy. As confident as I was being able to take care of myself, I knew Timmy was always worried senseless for me - his alpha instinct overpowering his senses. And the guilt was starting to creep up on me once he had left the room. Why was I punishing him? So I had put the lotion on. Now, if Joe was with me, this would relieve Timmy and he could pay full attention to his work. “Sure, why not. I’d like some company.”

“Should we get lunch first?”

I shot Timmy a quick text to let him know that Joe was with me and put it in my pocket before I got a reply, his phone was probably already with his manager. “Sure.”

* * *

When I headed back to the hotel, the sun was already down. I had taken over a hundred pictures that day. Venice was beautiful no matter how many times I visited it. I was so happy with the materials I had collected that I had forgotten all about the time, and with a smile on my face, I opened the door to our room.

Timmy’s foot tapping on the cement floor with nervous energy stopped as soon as I opened the door and his gaze fell on me. Karen was on her phone, standing in front of him. They both stopped to stare at me for a second before Karen said on the phone, “yeah, nevermind, he’s here.” She ended the call and ground her teeth, eyeing me. “Where’s your phone?” And before I could answer, she added, “Where have you been?”

“I…” I stared blankly at the two of them, confused. My eyes fixed on Timmy and I failed to read his expression; he looked pale. “I texted you.”

He took a deep breath and said calmly. “I didn’t get any text.”

“But I– “ I took out my phone to check and found that it had no signal. “The SIM…”

“He almost called a search party for you,” said Karen.

I chuckled nervously. “It’s only, what, 8?”

“It’s 8:53,” said Timmy, never getting his eyes off me.

“Do you understand,” started Karen, “this is not a _vacation_. If someone sees you and Timmy in the same city, doesn’t matter if he’s with you or–“

“Karen,” Timmy said, “close the door on your way out.”

Defeated, she took her bag from the couch, and before leaving the room, she said, “I’m trying to help here, and I am looking out for you, Timmy, but please, learn to control your omega or I won’t be able to silence the rumors the next time.”

My jaw dropped at the audacity. She left before I could say anything, so I said to Timmy, “You’re just gonna let her talk to me like that?”

But he was standing up and coming at me. For a second, I wanted to brace for impact, an instinctive response. But this was _Timmy_ , this was my alpha. What could be safer? I was never afraid of him. And he took me in his arms in a solid embrace. I heard him let out a breath against my neck; our height forcing me to slouch, and we let minutes pass in this fashion, letting the exhaustion of the day out in each other's presence.

After a while, I felt him seeking my scent gland, nuzzling his way up to it. Gradually, his heartbeat slowed. He pulled back and took my face between his palms. “Where have you been? I was worried sick. I told you to text me. And then I get back and you’re not here. And then your phone is unreachable. Do you kn– Anything could have happened–“ he rambled.

“Timmy, I was just… seeing the sights.”

“But why wouldn’t you check your phone? As much as you hate it, I worry. I can’t help– you wandering alone in a foreign country and so late –“

“Well, I wasn’t alone. That’s what I texted you about. Joe was with me. If you just called Cynthia...”

Timmy took another sniff and his arms fell to his sides. “Joe?” He took a step back, before stopping and starting to pace. “Did you plan on going out together?”

“Not really,” said I, going in to put away my camera and take my jacket off. “I bumped into him on my way out.”

A crease had appeared between Timmy’s brows. “But he’s an alpha?”

His question confused me. “Yeah, so I thought you’d be less worried.”

“Armie, he’s an _alpha_.”

Then it hit me and I chuckled. “Timmy, seriously? Jealousy is not a good color on you. And it’s _Joe_. He’s your friend.”

“He’s not my friend. He’s my coworker’s mate.”

I huffed impatiently. “Your point?”

“My point is that he’s an alpha that I know very little about, and who you know _nothing_ about, and you trusted him to take you on a tour of a foreign city.”

“Really, all this acting in movies thing has given you a very colorful imagination. Normal people don’t usually make elaborate plans of kidnapping giant omegas. And seriously, just chill out, nobody saw me. Contrary to what your team thinks, nobody gives a shit about me anymore. So don't worry, your reputation is intact.”

"That's not-" Timmy walked to where I was sitting on the bed and stood before me. “This is a joke to you?”

“You fussing over me does seem like a joke to me. If you’d left me in New York, would I have to take your permission over FaceTime every time I went grocery shopping?”

“Armie, this is not about my control over you. I’ve never been like that to you. You know I am not like that,” he rambled in frustration. “But I was worried shitless. And it turns out that I was right to– You have no idea what alphas can be like!"

"I don't-"

"And you smell–“

“I applied your fucking lotion and– ”

“It isn’t working!” he yelled.

I found myself leaning back and falling silent. It wasn’t like Timmy to be this flustered about something so trivial. In all our years together, I didn't know if I had ever yelled at me this way. And it started to shake me as well. There was some unexplainable tension between us, and looking back, it had been present for days now. We were just too overwhelmed with it to notice.

I stared at him, my eyes round, startled and mad. Moments passed before I found my voice. I whispered with anger, “this has really gotten into you, hasn’t it? Your whole stardom. And you think you can–“

He swiftly got on his knees and, holding my face, kissed me before I could stop him. “Don’t,” he whispered back, only his tone was defeated and tired in contrast. “Don’t finish– that’s only gonna hurt… let’s just, let’s forget. I don’t wanna…” He didn’t finish and kissed me instead; his mouth pressing hard against mine, trembling with pent-up tension and passion.

After a while, he pulled back, his palms against my neck and forehead. "You're hot again. You feeling okay?"

I felt nothing. I wanted him to let me go. So when he leaned back to take a good look at me, I stood up, making him stagger in the process, and, without saying anything more, I walked into the bathroom. I was tired.

In the middle of the night, as many nights before, still immersed in slumber, our limbs collided. And before we understood it, our bodies found each other and slotted together. We were used to this – our bodies seeking each other out in our sleep.

The rocking took us to a realm of easy surrenders and ecstasy; careless moans tumbling off our mouths. Then, he kissed my cheek. All lust gone. Only pure sweet gratitude and affection. That kiss alone almost put a stop to my plan. I loved him with every fiber of my being. So much so that being a separate entity from him was impossible for me to imagine. But I was drowning in self-loathing, I could not stand living with myself - made worse by his presence, his absence, and by the people around him. And as he whimpered my name that night in that hotel room, buried deep in me, I swore to myself that this was the last time we would ever make love again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am scared shitless because our government is giving zero shits so I am updating this fic without editing and writing in a frenzy becAUSE YOLO  
> so forgive the errors


	4. Chapter 4

I was shaking with dread and nerves. But I was resilient. The flight attendant announced that we were about to land soon. Beside me, Timmy was clutching the edge of his seat, nervously waiting for the moment the wheels would harshly meet the ground. Instinctively, I opened my palm on the armrest for him, which he took immediately. He was a nervous flyer and would not have it when Karen suggested that I took a different flight or at least get a seat far from him. Timmy crossed our fingers, leaned against my side and sighed. He pressed his mouth against my bicep and clutched his eyes shut. “Thank God for you,” he whispered and breathed.

As soon as the plane landed and started to slow its speed, I took a deep breath. I had to get it over with or I would suffocate. “I called Nick; he’s coming to pick me up.”

The people around us were already impatiently unfastening their seatbelts. Timmy was much too scared to do that before the plane properly stopped but he had let my hand go to gather his things. He thought for a second; I had caught him off guard. “But I have a car ready for you.”

“A _separate_ car.”

He sighed. “You know how it is. We can’t be…”

“How long do I have to stay behind at the airport this time 'til the crowd clears so I can get into the car without anyone snapping a picture of me?”

“It’s… You know I would have let you go home first but they won’t clear out before I get into the car. I hate to make you wait like this... Brian will be here with you, okay? You can go to the lounge and get something to eat. You didn’t touch your food here.” He tucked the hair on my forehead away. And, while brushing my hair, said, “it’ll just take like twenty minutes ‘til you get home. Then we’ll be together again.” He smiled and kissed my sideburn sweetly. “Okay? Don’t be mad, please? And I have four days off, we can–“

“I’m gonna stay at Nick’s for a while,” I said abruptly without looking at him.

This made him fall silent. He huffed out a confused laugh. “But all your stuff– Why?”

“Yeah… I’ll come get my stuff in a day or two.”

Timmy unbuckled his seatbelt to turn and face me properly. “What are you talking about?”

I took a deep breath and said my scripted speech. “I’m doing this here because I don’t have the energy to have another fight with you that goes nowhere. At least in public you won’t try to smother me with your… your… kiss me to shut me up. That is to say that I’m leaving you, Timmy. I can’t continue to be in a relationship that kills me bit by bit every day. I may not be a great man, but I don’t need to be reminded of that every day. The type of lifestyle that you crave and lead is no longer suitable for me. I don't want you to change your life for me. I want you to have everything you dreamed of. But I can't... I’m staying with Nick until I find a place. I’ll come and get my stuff or I’ll send Nick. That will be easier on both of us.”

By the time I finished and looked back at Timmy, his eyes were red, confused, and his breathing was hard and shallow. “Are you…”

“Yes, Timmy, we’re separating.”

He shook his head. “You’re not making any sense. You're… Let’s just- You're just tired… Let’s go home. Fuck separate cars, we’ll go home together. And when we’re well rested, we’ll talk about it, and – and you’ll see… We’ll be okay again. It will all be okay.”

“I’m not going home, Timmy.”

He moved a shaking hand and tentatively rested his palm on my chest exactly where his mark was. In a small voice, he said, “but we’re marked…”

I looked at him. His face reddened with suppressed tears. His eyes begging. I was reminded of the boy I had fallen in love with in Crema. His hair in the Italian sun, his scent mingled with the orchard’s the first time we kissed in the peach grove. How he had taken my face between his palms, so tender, and for a moment, I could _feel_ what he was feeling and everything was right in the world. 

How perfect it was without anyone or anything to interfere. How easy it was to fall in love. We hadn't even minded that the movie was cancelled. We were too busy discovering each other. Our first flight together when I had discovered his fear of flying and had tried to spook him saying "we're gonna crash…!" only to then take him in my arms and sooth him. How he had gotten down on one knee to ask me to move in with him and then had bursted out laughing. His laugh I would miss the most. It lit up the world for me. But life was not a holiday in the Italian countryside. People and things had to be involved.

I placed my hand over his. “I’m sorry…”

By now, half of the people had already gotten off the plane and Timmy’s PA was getting our backpacks out. Karen came to urge us off our seats, and Brian was there waiting patiently for me.

I removed Timmy’s hand from my chest and stood up. Timmy stumbled up on his feet to grab on my jacket. “Don’t do this to me, you can’t… you – Armie, don’t – Please, I’ll be… I’ll do anything, please, please” he said with shortness of breath, desperate.

I could tell by their faces that they all understood what was happening. So, I cupped Timmy’s jaw and placed a tender kiss on his cheek. “Goodbye, Timmy.” I held the wrist of his hand that was on my jacket and gently tugged until he let go. His tears falling free from his shocked round eyes.

I left the seat and felt Timmy’s attempt to hold me again, but Brian was there, holding him back. Timmy babbled with him in broken sentences as I took my bag and left.


	5. Chapter 5

Never having bonded with anyone else before, I was not aware of the agonies that followed one’s separation from their mate. I woke up sobbing night after night, clutching my mark. It was as though someone had dragged a sharp knife over it. At first, I had thought it was just chest pain. But no, it was my mark. I checked it on the mirror, suspecting it would burn bright red, the skin angry. But it was undisturbed; hiding - with its unmoving façade - the thrones it was causing. For a while, I thought it was fading even. But perhaps I was only imaging it because I wanted it to fade – yet I feared it actually might. Some nights I would stagger into the kitchen in the middle of the night, take out a bag of frozen peas and drop onto the floor, clutching it to my chest, fighting the urge to take my phone and dial up the number of the only person who could have relieved this right now. But I won. I never did end up calling him.

I scratched my chest uncomfortably during the online interviews that went nowhere. Without Timmy, I was living hand to mouth. If I could not find a stable job soon, I would have to live in the streets. Nick was kind as ever, but I feared I was overstaying my welcome. I considered working at cafes, restaurants, at the mall. He stopped me. “I don’t need you to pay my rent, man,” he had said when I was about to leave the flat to get a part-time job suitable for high school students. “Stay as long as you need. I love having you around. Almost makes me forget how lonely I am. It’s just like old times!” He smiled. Nick was anxious by nature. His relationships never lasted long enough for him to bond with anyone, which led him to believe that there were only a few people out there for him – his true mates. And he was yet to meet them. But at thirty-one, he had already lost hope. ‘What if whoever was meant for me is already dead, y’know…’ he would think aloud sometimes. I would tell him I was always there for him, but of course, it was not the same.

“Don’t think like that…”

“I’m 31, Armie.”

“So am I. And I just left the love of my life. Being bonded isn’t everything.” As soon as it left my mouth, I knew my tone was not quite right.

Nick was silent for a while. He knew. “You should call him. At least talk to him, maybe you can find–“

“Do you think I made a mistake?”

“I don’t know, man… What you had… it’s rare. But I also understand why you had to do what you did. But if it were me, I would never leave my mate. For anything. I would destroy the world if that meant that I could be with them. But that’s coming from a lonely and desperate man.” He chuckled.

I smiled and held his wrist. “Nick, I swear, as soon as I get something…”

But I didn’t get anything. I was a high school dropout who had only ever done freelance journalism and appeared in a couple of movies. I had little to show for myself. Most people knew who I was, and nobody wanted me. On top of that, I was an omega. There were little opportunities for me out there.

I kept tabs on him of course. Timmy. I couldn’t help it. He flew to London to play another central figure in a movie. She was with him, of course. Rina. Feeding the paparazzi on the sly. I did not understand the necessity to continue this ruse when I was no longer in the picture unless there was actually something there. It pained me to think of this, but I had no right. Not now. I wondered if I ever had.

But I was still proud of him and his work. I understood why people everywhere were amazed by him and by what he was capable of doing, why they fawned over him. And he looked as heavenly as ever. I was awed, to see new photos of him after so long, staring at the sneaked pictures of him on my laptop when a searing pain in my mark made me double over. Winching, I clutched my shirt and rubbed over it to smother the ache. Across the room, Nick saw it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just…” I said. I did not want to worry him. He was the sort of nurse, who would over-analyze simple conditions. “Don’t you have work today?”

“Nightshift.”

“Seriously… you look… sick,” he said, standing up to come and sit beside me.

Quickly I minimized the tab of paparazzi pictures on my laptop and opened my work. I knew I looked sick. I had deep purple circles under my eyes. I had thrown up multiple times over the last few weeks. But what else was to be expected from an almost unemployed, recently separated omega? “I feel fine,” I told him. I was in no mood to have a heart to heart with him right now.

Nick nodded. He wasn’t buying it but he wouldn’t say anything either. "Did you write back to Elizabeth? She's going nuts."

I slapped my forehead. I had totally forgotten about the invitation to her wedding. "Shit, no."

"She won't have it without you."

"I don't think I can afford to..."

“When’s that magazine interview?”

“Yeah, no, they canceled before they even gave me a chance,” I said without looking up from my work. “I guess they figured out who I am.”

“Have you thought about… maybe writing something? Like a script or something. You always wanted to do that eventually, right? Or maybe even audition for plays and stuff.”

“Nick, I can’t get someone to hire me for writing about the fucking weather and you think I can make a movie?”

He was quiet for a while. “This is gonna sound harsh, but you’ll never succeed in this area because you’re not passionate about it, Armie. Your heart is stuck with acting. And you’re good at it.”

“It’s not gonna take me anywhere now, so what’s the point of discussing it?”

He nodded. “Did you at least call him back? He’s been trying to contact you again.”

I stopped typing. “No.”

“Look, I am no one to interfere, but have, like… I dunno, talk to him. Have a friendly relationship, at least. That’ll be good for both of you. He was a wreck when I went to get your stuff, and he–“

“Nick, you’re just repeating yourself.”

I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to hear again how he had begged Nick to ask me to pick up the phone, how he asked him multiple times if he could come to the flat before he had to leave for London, how he told Nick to make me understand how sorry he was.

I needed to focus on my life, on myself for once. And then came the wave of pain again. It caught me off guard and I winched, clutching my shirt.

“Okay, seriously, what is going on?” Nick asked, panicky.

“My mark, it’s… It hurts. It’ll go away. No big deal.”

Nick stared at me for a while. “Your mark? Since when?”

“I dunno… since I got back from Venice.”

“Shit…” he muttered.

“What’s shit?”

Without answering me, he went to his room and came back with a syringe. “Armie… it’s… I’m sorry, man, but I’m gonna need your blood.”

I should have guessed. I should have _known_. An expecting omega separated from his alpha - the fetus, the body was bound to cry out for him. And no doubt, when Nick called me from the hospital that night, I touched my tummy. It felt full, bloated, and tender at the same time. The universe is cruel and would have no other way but its own. He would never leave me be. I was pregnant with Timmy’s pup.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"And I want this to pass_   
>  _And I hope this won't last_   
>  _Last too long."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check the end note for trigger warning if you're worried

Getting off the bed since then had been tough. I was losing sleep. I would watch the sun rise high in the sky every morning as beads of sweat glided down my temple – tension and anxiety gripping my every vein. Then I would watch the sky play with colors – pink and bright yellow and blue, and then came darkness. Darkness was the inevitability.

I had made a decision.

That morning, I dragged myself into the kitchen, and getting some coffee, sat down at the table, opening my laptop to read the news to distract myself. Nick was sat before me, having a healthy breakfast and staring at my lone cup of coffee, not daring to say anything. I did not have an aversion to food yet. But I had trouble keeping it inside these days. Especially in the morning. I was hungry. But if I had one bite of toast, I was sure I would start throwing up. Why waste food that I did not pay for? Better wait for nausea to go away.

I could sense that Nick was plucking up the courage to tell me to eat something when the doorbell rang. He went to check and did not get back. Whoever it was, Nick had buzzed them in, and was waiting for them at the door. The next minute, it happened like a storm. I could only register a head of fuzzy brown curls and a pair of worried eyes as I took my gaze off the laptop screen before he was getting on his knees and trying to pull me into his arms. Startled, I resisted. But the smell encompassed me. It engulfed me from every direction. It disarmed me completely. For a long while, I could think of or feel nothing but the smell, him, him, him. I was home. After months, I was home.

It almost bought tears to my eyes to be so near this again. I did not know how torn, how scattered I felt all this time until this moment when I felt whole again. But I soon recovered and, from his grip, pulled back my hands that he had settled for when I refused his hug. Timmy was staring back at me with manic eyes. He breathed loudly and cupped my face. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I stared, dazed. “Fine.” Then it hit me and I stood up. Walked to the aisle to stand leaning against it and stared at Nick, shaking my head. “You called him.”

Nick only shrugged in answer.

“It wasn’t really your–“

“I just thought he is equally responsible for this, so whatever you may decide–“

“Just shut up.”

Timmy was up on his feet the next second and, touching my jaw, he kissed me on my cheek and smiled nervously as though he could not decode the tension in the room or was too jumpy to be aware of it. His other hand landed on my waist so naturally and without notice, as though we had never broken up. “Armie, it’s… this is amazing.” He nodded. “I want you to know that I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to worry about anything, I promise. I promise.”

“Timmy… this,” I looked at the space left between us and, removing his hands from my cheek and waist, took a step away from him. “This doesn’t mean we’re together…”

He nodded frantically. “No, I know, I know. It’s okay.”

Then what was he talking about? My jaw dropped. How could Nick do this to me? “So you go behind my back and leave the hard part for me to reveal?” I scolded Nick.

Timmy looked between Nick – who had fallen silent – and me, confused. “What is he… what are you talking about?”

“Timmy, I am not keeping it.”

He stood still, staring at me.

“This is why I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want– I didn’t want to have to deal with this unnecessary shit and make this difficult for both of us. Or make you think that… And don’t tell me you have a say in this because you don’t. This is my decision and mine alone. At this age, I don’t even need your signature,” I declared, growing defensive before he had a chance to say anything.

But he kept staring even after I had stopped speaking. It took him a couple more seconds before he closed his mouth, furrowing his brow and pushing his nether lip out as he always did when he was feigning that everything was fine. “Yeah, no, of course…” He clutched the edge of the aisle and leaned against it. “I… whatever you decide, I’m–“

“I’ve already decided.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

He nodded again. “Good, yeah, good. I’m just gonna… I need um…” He kept mumbling as he went to the living room.

“Give him a second,” said Nick. “But talk to him. I beg you. Don’t take this huge decision alone.”

I stared him down as he went to his room to give us some privacy.

* * *

When I entered the living room some fifteen minutes later with a cup of coffee, I found Timmy on the sofa with his head bowed, rubbing his temples with his thumbs while his bony elbows rested on his knees. He looked up as soon as he heard my footsteps. Placing the cup down in front of him on the tea table, I sat beside him.

“Coffee,” I told him, in the tension of the moment, neither acknowledging the fact that I knew exactly how he took his coffee. It was almost muscle memory.

He offered me a forced smile in return and did not touch the cup. Instead, he asked in a small voice, “How far along?” as though it was no longer his place to inquire about such intimate details.

“Nearly eight weeks.” I didn’t wish to talk about this; I was uncomfortable, almost embarrassed. “Aren’t you supposed to be in London?”

“Yeah… I flew back as soon as I heard.”

“And they just let you go like that?”

He nodded and looked up. “When’s the appointment tomorrow?” I could sense he endeavored to change the subject as well.

“Eleven.”

“Okay…” He kept nodding in a weird fashion. “Okay, I’ll be here by ten. Will that leave time enough?”

“Timmy, you… Nick will be there. He’s gonna drive me home during his lunch break. You don’t have to…”

“I want to. Please let me?”

I gave in; partly because I was so astonished by the lack of protestation and how willingly he was going with the plan. When he showed up, I was afraid of the fit I imagined he would throw upon hearing the news.

He looked up at me now, and asked, “How did… You weren’t in heat.”

And in turn, I looked down at my lap and rubbed my palm with my thumb. I could not stand him looking at me. “Remember my scent? The damn lotion that didn’t work? The fever every night?”

“But… you’re usually –“

 _Our bodies knew,_ I wanted to tell him, _our bodies knew when we found each other in our sleep._ But we had no right to talk to each other in that way anymore. I sighed impatiently, frustrated with his questions and my inability to talk frankly. “Yeah, the travel and the… the stress, I think, fucked it up… I dunno.”

“Your scent… you smell different. It’s divine,” he started. It startled me, and when I looked up at him, I found his eyes clouded. He was leaning towards me to get a whiff of my scent again. “It’s like… it’s like that same scent but it’s…” He leaned dangerously close to me, so close that I could see the slight quivers of his lush lips. I had missed them, and it would take nothing more than for me to wait, stay still exactly where I was, to feel them against my own again. _Just this once,_ begged a part of me. He was still mine, wasn’t he? I still bore his mark, I bore his child.

I bore his child.

I was up on my feet the next second, walked hurriedly to the other side of the room, feigning that I presumed nothing, and awkwardly stood leaning against the wall. “It’s the pu– um… it’s the fetus.” I was aware of my growing erection and subtly shielded it from view with my pajama top.

Caught off guard, Timmy only nodded; his eyes conveying something desperate, as though begging. Silence passed as he scrambled to say something but came up with nothing but his fidgety thumps and grumbles. “Please,” he went. “Please, Armie, please.”

“You should go,” I said calmly.

“You won’t have to take any responsibility, I promise. Nobody has to know. Just these nine months and then you’ll be free. I’ll take care of _everything,_ I swear. I– Armie, please.”

All this, and he still cared about _people_. “I can’t.”

“They’re mine too.”

“But it’s inside _me_ and I’ve made my decision.”

“Why?” He stared at me – hope, and then threat in his eyes. I stood my ground. When he saw no way past it, he buried his face in his palms. He grumbled with frustration before standing up and, carefully keeping a measurable distance between us, walked out of the flat with tears in his eyes.

But as he passed me, I caught another whiff of his scent.  
My body wanted to run after him, stop him by force if necessary, and rut against him until I found release. It was craving its lost alpha. I was desperate and a searing pain mingled with want ripped its way through my groin to my underbelly and chest. A groan left my mouth as I doubled over. My mark was burning as though someone had lit it on fire. I could feel I was wet between my legs. But if I moved now, I knew my legs would take me to him.  
I waited. I waited until I was sure he had left the building. I rushed into my room and locked the door behind me. I tried to stop myself. Biting the insides of my mouth, I tried to replace the want with pain. But the thing was, I was already in pain. The whole of my body was on fire, it ached. For a while, I was sure it was contorting unnaturally. I tumbled onto the bed but the heat was unbearable. I dropped onto the floor. If Timmy were to walk into the room right now, I would not stop him. I wanted him. If screaming and making my throat bleed would make him come back to me right now, I would do so without hesitation. But there was no way of release. I couldn’t have him. Not now. He was gone. This helplessness, this fire, this want, this pain, this hollow in my chest – they blocked my throat and brought tears to my eyes. I cried as I refused to admit that I myself, and not just my body, wanted him back. Whimpering, I clutched my groin as my body rutted against the floor on its own – I had no control over it. It wanted its alpha.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: mention of abortion


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When you feel your love's been taken_   
>  _When you know there's something missing_   
>  _In the dark, we're barely hangin' on_   
>  _Then you rest your head upon my chest_   
>  _And you feel like there ain't nothing left_   
>  _I'm afraid that what we had is gone_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the endnote for trigger warning if you're worried

I felt an emptiness inside me. The rational part of my mind argued that of course, I felt empty, what did I expect? But no. At eight weeks, the fetus was barely an inch long – the absence of which I was not meant to register. I had no sense of my surroundings; I still felt sedated. I felt phantom metals poking at my intimate part still. As my subconscious found a seat, I sat down and touched my belly. Emptiness.

I did not see him come to me but his ready, familiar arms easily took me in his embrace. Tenderly, he took the file from my hand which had been handed to me on my way out and which I had no idea I was holding until this moment. And with that file, he took away this burden from me. I felt my shoulders slump against his touch. His smell, in this closeness, immediately comforted me. I was home again. And the revelation, this sense of how much I had missed him and how desperately I loved him – it broke the floodgate of all my pent up frustration and sorrow. And now, I had killed all that. I cried and cried because I cried. The pain was unbearable. But I had done what I wanted to, hadn't I? There was a problem and I had gotten rid of it. One less thing to worry about. I had thought I would be relieved. What was this hollowing ache in my chest? I had killed the product of our love. The love I felt for him at that moment was stronger than my own will to live. I loved every inch, every bit of his being. And I wanted to let him know that. And I wanted him to bring back what I had just lost. He’d said he would take care of everything, hadn’t he?  
It wasn't until he forced himself to utter a timid "it's okay" that I realized that he, too, had been crying and was as hapless as I was.

* * *

Earlier that morning, I was packing my necessities, ready to take the subway when he had rung the bell. After yesterday’s ordeal, I did not expect Timmy to follow through with the promise that was made before things escalated, before he opened the dam that I was thankful for. He was sorry, he said. “I thought about it for a while after I left, and I… yeah, you should do whatever feels right. And you have the full right to do so.” Then to break the tension, he added, “I called Nick. He knows I’ll be driving you home.”

He was fidgety the whole way to the hospital as though he wanted to say something but held back, consciously reminding himself to keep quiet every time. I used his nervous energy to distract myself from thinking too much about the upcoming event. I had decided, I had my reasons sorted, and I wanted to be done with it. Thinking on it now would do nothing but make me as fidgety as he was. I detested overthinking. The thinking part of the process was done, now only the action remained. But once in the garage, I found it difficult to get out of the car. He didn’t push. He knew. I looked at him – he was staring into the middle distance. “Timmy…” I called. He looked at me with the kindest eyes. I forgot what I wanted to say or if I wanted to say anything at all. When he found me speechless, he offered a small smile and ran his pointer finger along the shell of my ear. How did we get here?

* * *

I watched the raindrops clinging, with all their might, onto the glass window against the heartless wind and then gliding down helplessly. Everything gives up eventually.  
On our way back home, we were delayed by the city’s perpetual traffic. Timmy was so close to me. I wanted him to hold me again. I was shivering. It took him a while to notice but when he did, he immediately turned the heater on. His long lashes still bore the reminiscence of his tears, his red eyes droopy. _Hold my hand at least,_ I wanted to tell him, _please._ But such frank admissions were no longer allowed. He said nothing. He would not look at me. Perhaps he was mad at me; perhaps he thought silence was what I wanted. But he said nothing. _Talk to me. Why won’t you talk to me?_ I looked at his hand when the lights turned green and he clutched the steering wheel. They were shaking. His mouth quivered from time to time until he sucked his lips into his mouth and bit them down to stop them from quivering. He was holding back tears.

* * *

He helped me out of the car. I did not need it. I found my way to my bedroom and, finding a towel, went straight into the bathroom. Timmy followed at a hurried pace. “Maybe you should rest for a while. I’ll get you a washcloth if you–“

“I’m fine. You can go back home now.”

He stared at me for a while. “Would you mind keeping the door unlocked?”

I needed to wash all this away. I knew there would come a day when I would look back to this day and pat myself on the back for taking such a good decision and be satisfied with my life. I couldn’t wait for that day because right now this looked like a very very bad decision, as though I had just lost something that I could never get back, as though I had killed something and it was my decision hence I am the one responsible – something that was latching onto me to live. I was supposed to be its protector, its bearer. And I'd killed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: abortion


	8. Chapter 8

8:56 am

_**Timothée** : How are you doing now? _

_**Timothée** : You left the file in my car. I’ll swing by if you don’t mind. _

9:17 am

_**Timothée** : Are you okay? I looked some things up. Did the doctor tell you anything? You don’t have tummy ache or any sort of irritations, do you? _

_**Timothée** : Let me know if you do? Cause you’ll need to see the doctor again then. _

9:43 am

_**Timothée** : Armie? _

9:47 am

_You missed a call from Timothée_

It was the ringing that finally woke me up from my unrestful sleep. And it took me another moment to realize what that shrill tone was, by which time, the ringing had stopped. With a thud, I fell back on the bed. My eyelids were glued together. Rubbing them, I struggled my eyes open but could not, for the life of me, focus on the screen or anything else. I gave myself a moment. A long, long moment. I sat up, shook my head, felt the bedside table for my glass and drank from it. On my way to get the glass, my fingers accidentally touched that bowl of soup from last night. _Timmy_ . That was when I became aware of the absence of that constant dull ache of my mark. I could no longer smell him in the room. _Timmy. Timmy._ My eyes would not focus. The very thought ignited a light ache in my tummy; it felt tender and weird, and I began to sweat all over. I hoped he had gone home as he had promised. The last thing I wanted now was to face him or be near him.

When I tried to open my eyes again, I felt nauseous. I contemplated going back to sleep but I could not stop that uncomfortable ache or the sweat. I was not relaxed enough to fall back asleep.

I heard another phone ring. Not in my room. 

“Hey,” I head Nick say in the other room. “Yeah, he’s fine… I think. I checked on him a while ago. Still sleeping.” He paused for a while. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, I have the morning off.”

When I was sure their conversation was over, I called out for Nick – keeping my voice level so as not to alarm him.

“You okay, buddy?” said Nick, getting into the room.

Struggling to keep my eyes open and feeling pathetic, I said, “Can you get me a washcloth, please?”

“What’s wrong?” I heard his voice nearing me.

“My eyes– Nick, please…”

“Yeah, yeah, on it.”

* * *

“I’m gonna be here ‘til Nick gets back,” Timmy had said last night. He didn’t ask me if it was okay with me because he knew I would have just insisted on him going home. And perhaps he did stay until Nick got baxk. I wasn’t sure. I was so exhausted that I went straight to bed after shower. And when I jerked awake – from a door closing or a pan on the kitchen isle, I couldn’t tell – I could hear Nick in the bathroom. I found a bowl on my bedside table; the content covered with a plate. I removed the lid, finding the soup in it had gotten cold. I was so hungry, I gulped half of it down in one go; I had to starve myself for the procedure six hours beforehand. Then I stopped, remembering my tendency of throwing up too often. I was so used to having a living being inside of me by now. The feeling of emptiness struck me again and nothing tried to push up and forced out of my throat. I set the bowl down on the table and took a deep breath. Over the garlicy smell of the soup, I could sense something else. I felt the lingering remembrance of a kiss on my temple, and the smell that I so lived hung in the air still. He had been here.

* * *

The washcloth helped. And after a while of softly rubbing my eyes, I was able to adjust my vision. Timmy had been trying to reach me. _Did the doctor tell you anything?_ Had she? I didn’t remember anything. And I was too tired to even think on it or to send him a reply.

But that decision that day was perhaps a blessing. Timmy did not try to reach out again after that. He was perhaps back in London to work on his movie. I was relieved. And slowly I realized that I no longer had any sort of pain in my part of my body. I was finally free of him, wholly.

Within a few weeks, even my mark has started to fade. I found myself working my hardest to find a decent job. I booked a one-month trial with a not-so-renowned magazine and I was struggling to impress them. I wanted to get out of Nick’s hair, so it was all okay with me, as long as they kept me. I was working so hard that one evening, when I got back home, I stopped, and I realized that I had failed - all that trauma was still on my mind constantly. Just on the back of my head, tucked away, lurking. All that struggle and hard work had done nothing to keep the memories from taunting me; it just delayed the outpour. I broke down with my phone in my hand, almost calling Timmy. That’s when it vibrated in my hand. I didn’t have time to check who it was because I was sure it was Timmy. He must have felt it too, this unrelenting pain. I pressed it against my ear and huffed. “Tim?”

“Hello? Are you okay?” came a woman’s voice. “Arms, can you hear me? It’s Elizabeth. Are you there?”

It took me a moment but I gathered myself. “Elizabeth… Hi, I– How are you?”

“Were you expecting another call?”

“No, no, I’m sorry. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. Great, actually. But if it’s not a good time, I can–“

“No, please, you’re okay.”

“Okay… Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“My bachelorette party is this Friday. So when are you guys getting here? I need you here to help me finalize stuff.”

“Liz, I… I can’t –“

“First of all, don’t call me that. You only call me that when you’re trying to bullshit your way out of something. And don’t come up with new excuses, bitch, I need you.”

“I’m a little short on cash right now, and I just–”

“So you decided you can just skip _my_ wedding?” I failed to answer while I heard Elizabeth hum on the other side, thinking. Then she says, “You leave that to me, okay? I’ll see what I can do. You pack your bags; you’re getting here on Thursday with Nick. I don’t want to hear anything else.”

“Liz, I–“

“Shut up, Armie, and listen to me,” she hesitated for a while. When she spoke next, her voice was kind. “He is coming as well. Timmy. To the wedding, I mean. Not the bachelorette party.”

I furrowed my brows. “But he’s supposed to be in London.”

“Is he? But he just emailed me the other day that he was gonna come.” She paused. “Is that gonna be weird for you? He’s my friend too, but… I don’t know. I would have asked you first but when I sent it…”

We were still together when she sent it. I remember the call. She had to FaceTime us because we were in Berlin and had missed the mail and she was growing impatient from the lack of response. 

“Arms?” she called, bringing me back from that sunny day in Berlin.

“Yeah… you know what, it’s fine. We’re okay.”

I heard her squeal on the other side and I chuckled. “Okay, so I’ll email you the details. I can’t wait!”

If Timmy was really going to Elizabeth’s wedding, that meant he was back in the country. He was not working in London anymore. I gathered he had finished shooting. I wanted so badly to know what he was working on next, where it would take him, his first impression of the script, his take on the character – he would always discuss these with me. I loved listening to him talk about these. He always spoke with such passion – his animated features and frantic hand gestures. How complex his brain was, how unique his perception. And through him, I would live my dream. I missed all that. I could have easily picked up the phone and dialed his number. But this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. There is an unspoken rule somewhere that prevents you from casually calling your ex, especially after what I had made him go through last month. I bet he didn’t want anything to do with me after that. Why should he? I only brought him trouble and pain. Also, I left him for a reason. If we kept our connection, that reason would not fulfil. And all our sacrifices would be for nothing. It was better this way.

That Thursday I found myself at the airport with Nick. Elizabeth and him had both tried to convinced me that I would be doing _them_ a favor by going to California. For a while, I fought; I saw right through them. They were trying to help _me_. So, with a heart heavy with guilt, I flew to California for my best friend’s big day.

I was worried about running into Timmy. We hadn’t seen or talked to each other in more than a month. But he wouldn’t be there until the very day. And I left that tension for later.

“How’s your mark now?” asked Nick from the window seat.

“It’s fading.”

“Doesn’t hurt anymore?”

I shook my head.

“Is that a good thing or no?”

“It’s a good thing, yeah.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure I'm not the only person who starts everything they'd put off when they have a deadline for an assignment. Anything to not do actual work.  
> This chapter's stuff is one of the first things I outlined before starting this fic.  
> P. S. Not that anybody cares but this fic's name was almost 'Not Now'.

After three days spent in LA for the bachelorette party, Elizabeth, her family, Nick, and I made our way to a tiny county where Jack (Elizabeth's fiance) and his family owned a huge villa. It was accommodating Elizabeth’s parents, her brothers, Nick, and I on top of Jack's own family. Their large garden was the venue of the wedding. Tall trees surrounded the plot, and I was assured that a little over a mile away flowed the Russian River. The place was beautiful. Timmy would love this - I remember thinking. He was a city kid. He loved New York. But every so often, the Romantic in him would crave the countryside, the green, the woods, the rivers, the gloom, and the sun on his face. I would often tease him of being the reincarnation of Keats, saying that he should play him in a movie. He loved Crema - it would always remain a special place for me as well for reasons I no longer wanted to remember. The story, too, had touched us in a different way. I had the book still. The script was, of course, taken from us. That project would never see the light of day now. Because of me.

As the universe would have it, Elizabeth woke up that Thursday morning and opened the curtains to face the absence of the sun. It was a gloomy day. She ran down the stairs to find Jack and started crying. Jack survived all five stages of her grief until it all started again. Taking pity on the groom-to-be, Nick and I took our shift of consoling her. She had planned it perfectly, she cried, why should the weather act up all of a sudden? "We barely know what rain even looks like and it chose my week of all days of the year to rain!" All the weather apps said Saturday would see clear blue sky and mild wind. But the weather news had failed her once already, she couldn’t believe it now. A garden wedding in the rain… She would be lucky to have five guests, excluding the family. A huge tent was ordered, people hired to work on it. “I don’t _want_ a tent!” yelled Elizabeth in her full-fledged alpha voice.

By lunchtime, I was able to calm her down enough to eat something and take a nap. It was gloomy still, but it hadn’t rained yet. I was praying for it to rain soon because raining now meant that it would clear out in a day. But if it stayed gloomy like this, the uncertainty and gloom would ruin her day. I went downstairs to see Jack practically panting, pacing, and talking over the phone. I patted his back as he held my elbow in acknowledgment. This was why people didn’t usually have weddings these days. There was no need for it once you were marked (because most believed that people marked for life, which made life for broken couples difficult. But it was not as though it didn’t happen. Plenty of couples broke up and found others or lived life their own way. It was not the Victorian era anymore.) It is just another added celebration of your love, but not necessary. 

It was barely four o'clock but the dark clouds gathering over our heads made it look like twilight. I decided to go find this Russian River. God knows if I would get the time again with all this ruckus. And if it rained hard, there was no question of walking that far. I looked up at the sky, measured my chances, checked the weather app again, and started walking anyway.

But I was soon stopped by someone calling out my name from behind. I turned around and there he was, jogging towards me, his feet barely touching the ground, his curls bouncing up and down. The dull rays filtered through the gray clouds helplessly stumbled onto his cherubic face as it reflected back its own heavenly aura. He was smiling. He was happy to see me. Clouds rumbled over us and he caught up with me.

“You’re early,” I said.

“Yeah, I thought… I would look around the place. I’ve never been here before.”

“Don’t you have work?”

“Not now.”

“What are you doing here?”

He was slightly taken aback. “I… Do you not want me here?”

“I mean what are you doing here in the house?”

“I thought I would come say hi, is that… is that not okay?” He was starting to get flustered, second-guessing his decision as he always did.

“I don’t know… The situation is pretty tense right now. Elizabeth has been crying since morning because…” I look at the sky.

“Shit… can I join _you_ , then?”

I showed him the map opened on my phone. “I plan to walk a mile.”

“But it’s gonna rain…”

“You can go in, it’s fine. Nick’s there.”

“You gonna walk in the rain alone?”

“No, I plan on running back if I feel even a drop landing on me.”

He chuckled and started walking. “You always hated rain.”

“I know you love it.”

He shrugged as I caught up.

“Well, you’re an artist. Artists love the gloom.”

“As if you aren’t.”

I shook my head. “I’m not. I don’t think I ever was.”

“That’s not true.”

“You didn’t know me back then. Maybe… I think I was in it more for the fame. I wanted people to like me because people usually don't. And when I realized that they loved this pretense, I thought I was passionate about the acting when I was actually addicted to the love I got.”

Timmy kept shaking his head. “That’s not true. I know you now. And it’s that knowledge that makes me sure that what you just said is just your way of making yourself smaller in your own eyes. Finding an excuse so you don’t regret not living that life. I know you now and I know what you are capable of doing. I know that you will always be an artist no matter what you do, it will always be in you. I know you now and I know what you can and will be. Therefore, I know what you _were,_ and every possible version of you.”

I decided to ignore all that. _“Therefore?”_ I chuckled _. “_ Are you doing Shakespeare next?”

Smiling, he shook his head.

“Austen?”

He shook his head again.

I looked at the darkened sky peeking through the treetops. “Bronte?!”

“No, it’s not for work. I just… I dunno. There’s something about trees and mud and rivers and that smell of rain that get me all… I dunno.”

I nodded. “Keats,” I said faux sagely.

“Stop!” said Timmy laughing. “It’s not for a role.”

“What _are_ you working on then?”

“I, uh… I had… Um, you know what? Let’s not talk about my work. How have you been?” He changed the subject.

“Good. Good. You?”

“Great. Are you okay financially?”

I stopped abruptly and turned to face him, frowning. “You think I can’t go on without your help. I’ve been living on my own longer than you have. Longer than you've known me. I hope you remember that. I’m not a seventeenth-century housewife. And the main reason I kept to freelancing was because of the fucked up schedules of a fucking movie star. And unlike you, I won’t die without luxury. I can live off scraps. So, yes, Timmy, I _am_ okay financially. I am perfectly capable of earning my own living.”

Timmy stays silent for a while, startled. “I… I didn’t mean to wound your pride,” he says in a confused, small voice.

“Then why do you think it’s okay to ask such a question?”

“Just because we’re not together anymore, that doesn’t mean I can automatically stop worrying about you…”

“Well, you should. That’s how breakups work.”

“Not when you’re marked.”

“Well, your mark is fading.”

“What…?” he mumbles.

“Your mark, it’s fading,” I spat and started walking away, hoping to god that he would go back to the villa. But after a while, I heard defeated footsteps following me. I glanced back to see him walking in leisured pace, hands in his pockets, shoulder slumped, and staring at his feet.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so harsh with him. And many of the things I said weren't even true. But it all caught me so off guard. First, he ran to me without any notice when I hadn’t planned out our first interaction yet, then he laughed with me, then asked such a vulnerable question as though we were old friends catching up and nothing more. I couldn’t take it. Not from him. Not now.

Timmy kept his distance. Either intentionally or he could not keep up with my angered thumping. Soon, the soft murmur of water reached my ears. After such a long walk in the gloomy woods, the sound excited me so much that I turned to Timmy saying, “hear that?”

He was surprised that I was talking to him. He only looked up and nodded tentatively; perhaps still afraid I might get mad again.

I jogged the next few minutes and was met with green waters reflecting the forest. Timmy caught up and was now panting beside me. “So this is it, huh?”

I nodded.

“D'you wanna...?” he pointed at the river.

I frowned at him. “You crazy? I’m not walking a mile in wet clothes.”

He furrows his brows and smiles. “Who swims with clothes on?” And the next second he started to strip. With a sweep, the hoodie and the t-shirt were gone. And he threw the sweatpants on the ground before putting his phone over it. I gaped at him. “Sure you’re not coming?”

“No! Are you crazy?” I repeated.

“Suit yourself,” he said and didn’t even stop before pulling off his boxers and walking into the water. The green rippling around his naked body. Tight, pale thighs, the bump of his buttocks, his lithe tiny waist, the long expanse of his shoulders. My hands itched to touch him as he flattened his palm on the surface of the water.

I couldn’t resist. I took off my clothes, hesitated before taking off my underwear, and got into the water. He smiled at me. And as I aimed to get close to him, looking me in the eyes, his smile turned into a smirk and he kept walking back and into the deep water, as though daring me to follow him, letting me know that going to him was dangerous and would have a price to pay. I laughed and kept going until my foot skidded over a particularly slippery rock and I submerged into the cold water. And under the water, I saw my guardian angel gliding over to me. He grasped my arms and pulled me up as I clutched his waist for support.

“You okay?”

Huffing, I laughed at myself and nodded.

Thunder rumbled before a mild shower began. “Shit…” I hissed looking up. His smile returned and I felt his legs curling around my waist. Our old game. Because of the upthrust, I could only feel his skin against mine and not his weight. “You weigh nothing.”

He snorted. “Your turn.”

“I am _not_ doing that.”

“Come on, come on, please!” he begged, standing back on his feet. “It’s probably the only way I can ever lift you.”

“Not like we’ve never done it before.”

“Then for old time’s sake? Come on, Armie…”

I tentatively place my hands on his shoulder, wrap one leg around his waist, and burst out laughing at the contrast. “This is ridiculous. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Come on,” he said, pulling my other leg up and we both started giggling like schoolgirls. He walked us into even deeper water until only his head remained out of the water. The raindrops caught in his fuzzy hair. Moisture softly hitting his translucent skin, making it paler by the minute. The pitter-patter of rain surrounding us in this mystic water trapped between the woods where no other being came. The gentle rub my member against his soft belly, my thighs gliding against his waist... so familiar.

I could sense that he was losing it by the way he looked at me. I knew every turn, every shade of his gaze. Softly sliding the hair matted on my forehead away, he kissed my temple, my cheek. I felt his lips touch my wet ones, barely there, pulp and red against mine; so familiar, so enticing.

Not now. After all this... Fire tore through my guts. As though electrocuted, pushing him away, I pulled myself away from him and struggled to stay upright.

Timmy fell back. “I’m sorry… Armie,” he huffed. He kept coming towards me and I kept swimming away. “Baby, please, stop!”

“Don’t call me that,” I said from afar.

“I’m sorry, I sorry,” he said desperately. Not being a very good swimmer, he splashed violently, trying to get me. “Armie, please–“ his voice broke as he gulped some water, struggling to keep his head above water. He was scared.

I was stuck in a loop. Was this going to happen every time we run into each other? Wasn’t it better then to just stop trying to keep any sort of relationship alive at all? Shut him out? It might take six months or a year, but this bond, it would break eventually. And he would stop trying to reignite it every time we met, stop making it more excruciating than it already was.

“Please, come back– It’s not safe, not–“

I couldn’t take it any longer. I started to swim back, but not to him, to the bank. I looked back to find him calming down, catching his breath. As I hurried to put my clothes back on, I saw his phone light up. Incoming message.

**Rina:** _Hey, babe. I know you’re probably still napping. Call me when you get this? Hope you're not too tired. Miss you already 💔_

Without looking back, I ran back to the villa in the rain.


	10. Chapter 10

It poured that night.

On my way back to the villa, I had slipped and fallen on the slippery mud, skinning my knee and ripping my pant leg. Of course, I did. I was running through the woods in the rain with my mind numb with fear and regret. The heels of my palms, scratched, turned angry red when I held them under the faucet. I did not want to make a fuss and thanked the heavens when it was Jack’s father, David, not Elizabeth, who opened the door for me. I had asked him where I could find a first aid kit and, being as kind as they all were to me, he asked me to go to my room and wash the mud off and said that he would take the kit upstairs himself. I told him not to tell Elizabeth, it would only worry her when there was actually nothing to be worried about. Wincing, I cleaned the wounded areas, hoping to god Timmy was not following me here. But more than that, I found myself praying that he had not run in the rain like an idiot as I did, that he had gotten out of the water, that he was in his hotel room now dry and warm.

I went downstairs at dinnertime, trying my best to hide the limp. I wanted to text him but my phone was wet and dead, so with David’s help, I found got a bowl of rice and put it in there before joining everyone for dinner. Elizabeth was glowing in the soft warm light of the dining room. The rain outside making us all feel snug and warm inside. Rain was good news; hopefully, it would clear out completely in two days’ time. It was a relief to see Elizabeth happy and beaming again, holding Jack’s hand between bites, instinctively turning to share a laugh every time someone said something funny. It felt impossible now to remember a time when I was this happy and at ease, lacking nothing.

I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. The look of on his face, alone in the water, staring up at me with such hopelessness, confused, as I left. He was worried, hurt, and embarrassed. He wasn’t a very good swimmer. He ran out of breath too quickly, his arms too tired to carry on. I remembered the times I would tell him to wrap his hands around my neck and I swam because he loved floating in deeper water – it gave us a sense of serenity, of freedom and of frisson. There, in the cradle of blue water, at the mercy of nature only, no one could touch us.

What if he couldn’t swim back to the bank? What if he got too tired? What if he had tripped as well and hurt himself badly and couldn’t walk? Did he get lost? Was that why he had not followed me back to the villa because he was lying there somewhere in the woods, wounded? Or…

Bile filled my mouth. I looked up at Nick, ready to ask him to call Timmy; or he could text him, asking whatever, so if he texted back, I would know that he is okay and wouldn’t have to let him know that I was worried. And if he didn’t text back…

Then disturbing my thoughts, the bell rang. We all immediately looked at the clock. It was late and it was raining cats and dogs; nobody in their right mind would be outside at the time unless it was an emergency.

“I’ll check,” said David and left the table.

By the time he got back, everybody was busy eating and talking again. David came straight to me and leaned to whisper in my ear, “There’s someone at the door for you.”

I frowned at him, so did Nick. As I excused myself, my heart in my throat, and walked towards the door, I could hear their inquiries about who it was. Outside on the shaded area of the patio stood Timmy in a maroon raincoat. Dark wet fringes dangling over his forehead, bloodless pale face adorning a cherry red mouth. He was dangerously beautiful; a creature conjured up by the unwitting mingling between the rain, the assaulted woods, and the moon hiding behind the clouds in this stormy night to unhinge human beings. _La Belle Dame Sans Merci_. Wet hazel eyes borrowing darkness from the night looked back at me while I looked for words to fill this silence.

“Have you lost your mind?” I said.

He walked towards me, urgent. “Why aren’t you… why didn’t you reply?” He asked as though blaming me for this.

I furrowed my brows and opened my mouth, struggling to find words to say how ridiculous and outrageous all this was. “What are you talking about?”

“I texted you like fifty times. I called you and you were unreachable. What–“

“–My phone died. This is what you walked in the rain for?! Are you crazy?” I remembered not to yell too loud so as to not disturb the family. “Why couldn’t you just call Nick like you always do?”

“And tell him what exactly? That I almost kissed my boyfriend and he fucking ran away in the rain?” he challenged. “I was worried sick, Armie, you could’ve… something could have happened to you, and I would never be ab–“

I gritted my teeth. “–I am _not_ your boyfriend anymore. When are you gonna snap out of it? How can you still say and do stuff like that when you've already moved–”

“Tim?” came Elizabeth’s voice from behind me. “Oh my god, it _is_ you!”

She invited him in, took his raincoat off, and got him a towel. The raincoat didn’t much help keep his clothes dry. Elizabeth fussed over him, sending him upstairs with one of his brothers to give him some dry clothes as Timmy kept telling her that he should leave. I stood back and watched with this nervous burning sensation in my tummy. What was happening? I was glad that he was okay but the last thing I needed right now was being under the same roof as Timmy. I had thought I would have to face him for only one day. Now Elizabeth and Jack were making him stay the night because “you can’t make it to your hotel in this weather and it’s so late!”

He was introduced to everyone, had dinner with us, and was to bunk with Nick as all the other rooms were already taken. I kept my distance. And in the whirl of being the subject of everyone’s curiosity, the “Hollywood actor”, I saw him try and fail to come to me again and again. There was nothing else to discuss between us. Now talking would only make matters worse than it already was. I wanted him to leave. But he couldn’t. So I said goodnight, took my phone out of the bowl and went to bed earlier than everyone else. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and got into bed with every intension of falling asleep. But my mind buzzed with the image of wet fringes, pale cheeks, and rosy lips. His palms were almost blue from being in the rain for so long. His nails pearl white. I could smell him, even wet and in the rain, I could pick out his smell. Earthy and tangy with anxiety. I could feel the wetness between my legs. From the murmur downstairs, I could pick out his voice. I could swear I heard him. Deep, melted honey. I wanted him to murmur into my ears and lull me to sleep, take me to a place where only he and I existed – the deeper water. My body burned with desire. I wanted him to wrap my legs around his lithe waist as he did in the water, then kiss my temple, my cheek, and slide his tongue into my mouth without permission. My hand slithered into my pants and found that heated place that craved his touch. I groaned into my pillow with frustration. My own fingers were never enough, would never be enough for what he could do to me. He was barely thirty feet away. I could go and seek him out as easily as I could dip a finger inside me right now. Nobody would know, nobody would care. I wouldn’t care if they knew. Let them. Let them know that it was _my_ alpha that they were so excited to have among them. Let them know that I was taking him away because only I had the right to. Let them imagine what we might do when we were together. Let them envy us.

He was so close, so close to me. If he walked into my room without knocking right now and slipped into the bed, I would let him. I would let him take my clothes off under the covers one by one and touch me there where it was slick and burning. I would guide his hand there if I had to. _Here_ , I would say, _it aches here_. And he would take care of me, I knew he would, he always did. I would kiss his wet hair in return, his eyelids that were always warm, his plump, starved lips that he offered this afternoon. I thirsted for them. For them to be on my mouth, on my neck, on my chest, against my burning skin, between my legs. I would let him taste me, lick me clean until more liquid gushed out of me. And if he offered his lean fingers to me, I would taste myself as well. Then, after kissing his lips raw, I would let him mount me without complaint. Tear into me, softly and gently. Always softly and gently. Shushing me kindly. Telling me that he loved me.

I came with a gurgled gasp and tears in my eyes. When my heartbeat neutralized, I banged my fists on the pillow. I missed him. And he was so near, yet he was no longer mine. He was someone else's now, he had already moved on. I could not just walk up to him and demand him to hold me because I wanted him to hold me, so much now that my eyes welled up and I buried my face into the pillow. “Timmy,” I found myself whispering, clutching my soiled pants, “Timmy, please… please…”

The house remained silent.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this one for a while now because I wanted to make this chapter perfect and I am still not happy with how it's turned out.  
> I'm sorry I've changed the chapter count again.

The sun tore through the blue sky the next morning, and Timmy was nowhere to be seen. Nick could tell that I was looking for him despite my efforts of being subtle. “He left before breakfast,” he said with kind eyes before rubbing my back in soothing circles. So we were back to that? Probably for the best. Nothing good came out of us interacting. The sooner we let it past the better it was for both of us, and for the people who were now involved.

I had nothing against the girl. Rina. We had never interacted in person but I was sure she was a nice person as well. Otherwise, Timmy would not have chosen her. I trusted him and the company he kept. But I could not bring myself to like her or feel at peace regarding the situation. It _really_ did not involve me. I should not have cared. Yet, every time I remembered the ill-timed text, I felt a strange twist in my tummy that carried itself through to my chest and sat there like a stone. It burned my heart when the ache brought back all the painful memories of the past. All the times he would have to go out to stage a particular picture for the paparazzi and leave me feeling worthless, as though I was never his priority, never good enough for him to be with in public. Particularly the time in Vienna when Timmy told me he was too busy doing interviews to go out and explore the city with me and came to the hotel room late at night not being able to look me in the eye. The next day I had found hundreds of almost explicit paparazzi pictures of him with Rina. My heart had shattered into a million pieces. I had never hated myself more than I did that day. Unwanted and worthless. He knew that I had seen the pictures. He said nothing, only took me in his arms without asking and brushed my hair until I fell asleep. Why he sometimes thought lying to me would have saved me from the pain, I didn’t know.

So this new arrangement should be great for everyone. Timmy would not have to lie to the public anymore or hide from them and live a secret life. That must be good for his conscience. Rina must be happy to finally invest some time on something concrete and real. And for me, I could not be with him because we led two different lives, a problem Rina would not face because of their shared profession and the lack of a haggard past like mine that affected my life with Tim. I was finally free of him and had a chance of being my own person.

Except…

“You seated him beside me?” I said to Elizabeth, making sure no one I knew was in the room. I was doing a final check over the place with her brother when I saw the sitting arrangement.  
It was the big day and, with her makeup almost done, she was already the most beautiful bride I’d ever seen. “I thought you said you were good,” she said as her makeup artist fussed over her final touches. She knew who I was talking about.  
“Yeah but not spending a whole evening sitting beside him good.” I sighed and buried my face in my palm.  
“Babe, you'll be lucky if you get to sit for eating.” She chuckled. “Do you realize whose wedding this is? You gotta be up on their toes all the time.” When I didn’t answer, she said kindly, “Arms... Is it really- Who else would I sit him with? He doesn't know anyone except you, me and Nick seeing how hush-hush you guys were about the whole thing. If it really bothers you, I can get someone to take care of that.”  
I shook my head. I felt bad for making her worry about something so silly on her wedding day. “No, it’s okay. I’ll figure something out. You don't worry about it, okay?” She cupped my cheek and smiled. “You’re the prettiest bride I’ve ever seen.” I smiled back.  
She smacked my arm playfully. “Flatterer.”

He was there at the tiny chapel; in his Haider Ackermann three-piece, sitting beside Jack’s giggling young cousins who were thrilled to have the honor of sitting beside the Timothée Chalamet. But he paid them no mind, he was staring at me. Even before I saw him, I felt this heated gaze on the back of my neck. He wore a hypnotic smile as though he held a secret that no one else was allowed to be privy to. And I knew he held that smile for _me_. His eyes clouded with something I could not place. And he kept smiling at me, kind and tender, until the young girl beside him called him. I watched his smile turn into a polite and distant one. He nodded before the girl angled her phone for a selfie. I looked forward at the altar before he could look back at me.  
  


Later, at the table, I switched Nick's place card with his so he would be sitting between Nick and Tyler while Nick would sit beside me instead of him. I sat down and took a last look at the notes I made last night on my phone for my toast as people strolled abound munching on snacks and drinking wine when Nick flopped down on the seat beside me, a big satisfied smile plastered on his face.

“What are you all happy about?” I said.

He smirked. “See that guy over there by the gazebo? Navy suit.”

I looked at the young man with a bright smile and twinkly eyes, his extremely silky brown hair parted on the left, tiny hairs bobbing with the lightest breeze that you could barely feel as he talked and laughed with Jack’s younger sister. “Yeah?”

“That’s Violet’s friend. His name is also, guess what, Nick,” Nick says with a proud nod as though it was supposed to be super clever.

“Well, it’s not exactly a unique name.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “And he just gave me his number.”

I smiled big and nodded comically, approving. “Wouldn’t that be weird though? Image calling his name during sex.”

“Stop imagining stuff that I myself haven’t imaged yet, Hammer,” he scolded through a laugh. He shook his head. “He’s Nickolas, starting _right_ now, doesn’t matter how far we go. Or it would be like that movie that you almost made.”

My smile faltered for a second. In my periphery, I was already scanning the crowd for Timmy. The last time I saw him, he was surrounded by people politely asking him for a picture.

“He’s a beta. We’ve been talking since we got here, all the while until I saw you sitting here all sad and alone,” continued Nick, nudging my shoulder. “I almost forgot that I am babysitting you.”

“You don’t have to look out for me, Nick,” I said distractedly. “I’m not lonely, just this toast thing…”

“Oh, right, yeah, don’t fuck it up. Elizabeth will kill you.”

I laughed.

Nick frowned as his gaze landed on the place card. “I thought I was sitting beside Tyler.”

I eyed him hesitantly as he discovered who was to sit on his left. He made an exaggerated silent “oh” with his mouth before patting my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I gotchu, buddy.”

He found me in that one moment when, without knowing, I let myself be vulnerable. I watched longingly as Elizabeth and Jack danced for the first time as a couple. Her smile serene, happy, fulfilled. We had dated for about a month in high school until we realized we liked each other too much just not as lovers, and we had been best friends ever since. No matter in which state we were in, our bond never weakened. And in all these years, I had never seen her happier. She and Jack, they were an amazing couple. Elizabeth, free-spirited, energetic, passionate, easily invigorated. And Jack, cool-headed, caring, and so in love with his bride. A fond smile plastered on my face, I swayed slightly to the music.

I could sense someone creeping up beside me but I was too spellbound by the music, the dim lights, and the early evening smell of the grass to give much mind to who it was. It was magical. But the smell, that Earthy smell that I loved, with the light breeze of the night, reached me before he spoke up.

"You called me that night, didn't you?” There was a smile in his tone, _that_ smile.

I frowned at him. “No, I didn't.” But I wasn’t sure. Had I dialed his number half-asleep? I shoved my hand into my pocket to get my phone out to check.

He simply rested his palm on my arm to stop me. “Not on the phone.” He bit his lip. That all-knowing smile, such serenity. He glowed in the light, like a nymph. His hair smelled of leaves and his eyes sparkled, his lips wine drunk. He was standing too close. “You were thinking about me during.” He paused. “I know.” As though to say, ‘it’s okay. I _know_ and I understand that you tried to hide but it’s okay too that I know. It is something we both have, have between us. There is no shame in it. It is tender and glorious and _ours_ and we must give it light.’ “You were calling for _me._ ” He smiled the kindest smile.

It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about but it came to me soon enough. _Stupid. Stupid!_ I knew it was a mistake and would come back to bite me in the ass. This was how I was found out in Crema as well, all those years ago. Mating call.

I could hear him from my room that night, so of course, he could hear me too. That rainy night. My body had cried out for him. And he had heard the call. I was caught. He knew what I had done. And it was cruel of him to embarrass me this way. I ground my teeth and spoke with pretend dignity because there wasn’t a shred of it left in me right now. “What I do in the privacy of my own room is none of your business.”

His smile did not falter; he knew I would react like this. “No, it's not.” He looked ahead at the couple dancing.

 _He has no right, no right…_ And while I scrambled for things to say as my blood boiled, I heard the tone of an incoming message. I studied his face as he took out his phone to read the text. “It's her, isn't it?” I said through gritted teeth.

He frowned. “What do you mean? It's just Giullian.” The next second I saw realization dawning on him.

I smirked, challenging. "This is why the mark is fading, isn't it? It makes sense now. This is why you went quiet when I told you about it. You weren't sad because it was fading, you were hiding your relationship for me. You moved on. That's great. I’m happy for you. But why are you making this hard for _me_?"

He stared at me blankly. And when he spoke next, his lips were heavy, his face long, and his tone lacking all the zeal of the thrilling discovery he had professed just moments before. "You think I wasn't sad hearing that the only physical proof left of our life together is fading? You think I moved on? May I remind you who walked away? I tried moving on. At least she wanted to be with me. I thought with someone else, it might be possible to push you to the back of my head at least because I didn't want this to affect my work but I... I –“ his lips tightened. “I need some air," he said abruptly and, parting the crowd gathered around the bride and groom, hurried away.

Something inside me told me that I should follow him, but I did not want to. I looked around, Nick was talking, enamored with the new Nick. Tyler, holding his wife’s hand and swaying to the music. “Excuse me,” I said to the people behind me and smiled politely.

For a second, I could not find him. But then, there he was, lurking behind an oak tree, out of the sight of the people, staring at me, enjoying seeing me looking for me. As I was nearing him, I saw the burning ember between his lips. I frowned, finally reaching him. "You started smoking again?"

"No... It's not like I started. Just one or two."

It was a load of bullshit, of course. “If you think it looks cool or some shit, it doesn’t.” He only huffs in reply and continues taking drags of that pathetic white stick. “Stop smoking. Please, Timmy,” I begged.

“I'm young. My lungs can take it.”

“No. It doesn’t matter what age you are. It's gonna slowly kill you or damage you. And I –“

He stared at me expectantly, waiting for me to finish. “And you what?” he challenged. He was taunting me.

“And I…” I hesitated before continuing in a small voice. “I can't see that happen.”

“Thought you were over me, that- that you stopped caring,” he said, his teeth clenching.

“Where did you get that idea?”

“Stop caring, that's what breakups mean,” he was quoting me. “You’re trying to leave this behind, you’re forgetting– That's fine. I want you to be happy.”

Hot breath left my mouth. “ _I’m_ forgetting? _Me?_ And when did you start dating Rina Figgins, might I ask?

“How'd you know about that?”

“Doesn’t matter how I know.”

A throaty, sad laugh left his mouth as he paced a turned sideways so as not to look at me. “Y’know, I trust everything you say and do? I always have. You know that. Some of my friends used to call me a pussy for having more trust in my omega than in myself, so I left them. Remember Peter? You asked why I don’t mention him or hang out with him anymore? I never told you. Because they didn’t matter. You did. So I didn't go begging you to let me back in when you left ‘cause I thought… I thought this must have been a necessary step, that it was good for you. That perhaps it was what was best for us. So I tried to move on. I gave her a chance but... No one can come close to what you are to me... It's like,” he chuckled, “it’s like the thing you have for your mom. Hell, it's a whole different category. And nothing compares…” He looked back at me. “I _can_ love others, but… you’re just… one. And I'm stuck. I'm fucking stuck, Armie. And I have to spend the rest of my life looking for a substitute, knowing that there isn’t one." His lips tightened around the words, a pool gathered in his eyes. He was fighting not to let it drop. Taking a drag of the now small cigarette from his shaking hand to distract himself, he threw it on the ground and stepped on it while getting a new one from his almost empty pack and reaching for his lighter.

One or two, my foot. I couldn't take it. My head buzzed with the words admitted to me. I was overwhelmed. I had to make him stop. And my brain jumped to the thing dangling between his lips. "Stop smoking.”

Timmy chuckled and shook his head, with smoke puffing out of his mouth.

My throat closed as it became hard to breathe. “I said stop it." And with one step I was too close to him. I took the cigarette from between his lips and threw it on the ground with more vigor than was required.

Timmy jerked his head up towards me, shocked and enraged. With hands rigid with anger, he took out another cigarette.

He dared… I lunged to take it away as well, but he caught my hand midway, and I shoved him back with my free hand. He groaned with the impact, and let go of my hand. In an instant, he recovered from the shock and shoved me back. I staggered back but returned with intent. I would have that fucking cigarette from him. I pulled it out of his mouth before he could stop me this time, but then he clutched my palm and my arm to stop me from throwing it away. This was infuriating. “Let go!” I said. He didn’t. I could have simply loosened my fingers and the pathetic, now bent, thing would have dropped to the ground. Instead, adrenal and pent up frustration got the better of me. I was overcome with this pull from the inside. I pinned him against the trunk of the tree by his shoulder. There was a sudden cry in his eyes and he still would not let go of my hand. I could not take it anymore. I leaned down and crushed my lips against his.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the rating before proceeding, I've changed it.
> 
> I stole the quote 'how can you stand it' from A Slow-Burning Fuse by [th_esaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/th_esaurus) \- one of my absolute favorite writers here.

_Just once. Once to get it out of my system, then we'll be fine. It will be closure. It’ll all be fine,_ I told myself. I knew, even then, that it was a lie.

His eyes rounded with shock, but within seconds, he melted into the kiss, against my mouth, going from rigid revolt to welcoming and soft in my arms now.

But a kiss, a kiss was all I thought it would be. A kiss, I thought, would be enough.

I found myself taking him inside and into my room, caught in a frenzy where it was impossible to think of the consequence or of separation, about what was to follow. All that was left in my mind was _this, here, this, now, now, now._

As he started to take my coat off, I did try to stop him though. I did not _want_ him to stop. I just wanted to be reassured. “Timmy…” I whispered, “You have… you…”

He took my face between his palms and shushed me. “She knows,” he said. “She knows everything…”

From the gaps of the curtains, yellow was pouring in, dancing on the walls like fairies, like will-‘o-the-wisps, with the sweet music that was buzzing in, making the dark room golden. “What does she know?” I asked.

He rested his forehead against my chin and his labored breath brushing my neck. “That it's you. It will always be you. That I'll always be a half. A square puzzle piece with sharp edges that nothing else can fit with.” He looked up at me, eyes bright in the dark, and caressing my face, he said, “Do you know what ancient Greeks said about broken mates? That when they die, they wander around in Tartarus for eternity, their feet bleeding, their mind gone mad millennia ago, looking for their one true mate, but they can't find them because that's why they’re in Tartarus and not Elysium, because they've sinned by separating and, as punishment, they become invisible to each other. They search for the only person they cannot see, cannot sense, touch, or feel. I cry myself to sleep every night feeling empty, swatting my hands against hard surfaces because they ache to touch you. I jerk awake in the middle of the night, worried sick about you. And you didn't even think that I deserved an explanation... ”

I breathed. “Why are you actually here, Timmy?”

He smiled a serene smile. I was finally asking the right questions. “Can’t you tell? I came here for you.” He nuzzled my scent gland and I felt the tension leaving his body. “I miss you, every second. How can you stand it…?”

“I barely can,” I said before sliding my tongue into his mouth.

He untied my bowtie with a single tug, our jackets long gone. In bed, he unbuttoned my shirt with care, kissing every inch of skin as he exposed it. “Just pull it,” I whispered and ran out of patience, pulling the shirt over my head myself. He sat stunned for a second. I followed his gaze as he ran his thumb over the fading mark.

“It’s still here…” he said as though to himself. “You know, she says she smells you on me.” He looked up when I didn’t answer. “Still. She couldn’t tell if it was you, but who else would it be?”

My heart burned at the thought of someone else being close enough to him to be able to smell me on him. “Are you that close?”

“No,” he said simply. “She can’t be near me.”

“Because…”

“The scent mark.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No.”

“I am.” A part of me was. “I want you to be happy.”

“Have I been talking to a wall all this time?” he mumbled with no real zeal and rose on his knees to chase my lips as he lay me down on the bed.

Brushing his cheeks with my thumb, I took his face in my hands to pull him away, I desperately wanted to see him, look him in the eyes and tell myself that yes, it was him, I was not dreaming again. Yes, it was him that I was touching with my starved hands, kissing with my perched lips. Yes, yes. After months that seemed as though they were decades, I was finally in his arms again. Something I had thought would never be given to us again. This was to be lived with everything we had. This was what life led us to, this single, complete moment of elation to be commingled again before we part forever.

But his brows furrowed. He took my hand away to look at my palm. In the blurry light, only scattering cuts were visible that had turned deep purple by now. He could feel them. “You fell,” he said. I nodded. “Why wouldn’t you wait for me? Why are you so mad at me?”

“I’m not mad. I’m afraid,” I admitted before I could stop myself.

“What are you afraid of?” He kissed my palm thoroughly, licking the scratches. “Tell me,” he urged with no urgency in his voice as though we had all the time in the world.

But words were stuck in my throat. I was thinking of things, feeling them, stuff that I had not have the courage to face myself yet. And here he was, baring me naked, exposing everything at once. I never dreaded this power that he had over me. But I was afraid of the flood that I hid inside me, of drowning both of us in it, and I wanted him to hold me and not ask anything. He was always my solace. _Let me forget, Timmy, even if it is for a mere hour of this fairy-dancing evening._

I found myself shaking my head with panic in my eyes. This was one of the last threads I held before I would be fully exposed, and I didn’t want to be exposed, not to him, not to myself, that would defeat the whole purpose, ruin everything. And we couldn’t do that, _not now._

Naturally, he soothed me, caressing my cheeks with his softer, leaner hands. “You can’t say or you don’t know?”

I shook my head again. I could not think. I was only aware of these colors that I felt. Colors of guilt, sin, and anguish. And I did not want to feel them.

He brushed his lips against mine as he murmured, “I’ll tell you. You’re afraid because being near me and not being mine hurts you as much as it hurts me. You’re afraid of doing something you haven’t prepared yourself for.” He kissed my swollen eyes, the skin right under. “You’re afraid of reigniting a fire that we’ve both been fighting off. I know, sweetheart, I know.”

But it was not the fire I was afraid of. It was the cold, freezing water. Fire I could fend off, I could even yield to it without much regret. He was not wrong altogether. It hurt terribly but I was not afraid of the pain it caused me to be near him because what I dreaded was something much more monstrous in me. A dry frustrated sob mingled with a whimper tore through my guts; I let it out with my eyes clutched shut, arching against the mattress. There was no way out for us.

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured, caressing my hair, my face, my chest.

Almost every part of my body was covered with hair. He never cared. It never mattered to him. I had unlearned to be ashamed of them with Timmy. And now there he was again, nuzzling and licking my dark chest, and among them, he found the dying mark again. He lapped at it, a growl escaping his mouth. I knew. And before he could gnaw at it for the second time, I whimpered a small ‘no’.

And that was enough. That was always enough for Timmy.

He climbed up and whispered, “ _désolé._ ” A part of him wanted desperately to claim me again, to get back what was his once. His futile endeavor of reviving the dying thing. That primitive drive was not to be the dominant one this night. This night was for tenderness and silent confessions. This was for old time’s sake. This was for closure.

When he found my bandaged knee, he took it off without asking. I hissed as my melting skin clung to the gauge. I should let it dry, he said before blowing cool air on it and kissing the angry red skin around the wound. I had to let it heal. He insisted. I _had to._

…

I remember moisture flowing freely from my eyes, running down my temples. He was caressing my insides with his talented fingers. It was unbearable. I writhed against the bed, whimpered, called his name. Why would he torture me like this? What had I done? 

I could hear a chant of ‘it’s alright, it’s okay’. He was shushing me. He did not drive the torture, he was soothing it. Please, I cried, please. And he did hear, he always did, and gave me what was rightfully mine, what I cried for.

With his right hand on the soft inside of my knee, he held my leg against my chest before he offered me his fingers as he shivered and huffed over me. These nimble fingers that I licked and sucked on, they had been inside me, making them a part of me, yet much more vital to our existence. This was God-given.

He moved and huffed against my mouth as I hungrily gulped his soul. The sound of flesh against flesh, the liquid that our bodies so freely let ooze out for each other, the pitter-patter of clumsy pairs of lips and the moans they let loose filled the air. I could not remember a time when I did not have this. His thrust languid and loving. His soulful eyes were gloomy but he still looked at me. His supple fingers were everywhere, touching everything. I remember the silence between us, his deep groans and shallow huffs, the feeling of his rocking inside me. But I also remember whispered vows. “If I could build a temple for you, I would keep you there and worship your body every waking moment.” He gave me everything so willingly and without protest. His kindness I would never forget.

When it happened, it happened with such familiarity that for a moment I could no longer feel our separate bodies. His member moving inside me was no longer his but my own, as the Androgynous Socrates spoke of. The heart thudding against my chest, threatening to burst out, was his. The moans and curses in unison, ours. Our mingled scent surrounded us and cocooned us in this room, rejecting everyone and everything else.

* * *

When I came to, he was looking at me with soft, serene eyes, my hair sliding through his nimble fingers. He watched me take in my surroundings and smiled kindly, touching my cheekbones, my mouth. I felt the slithery substance sliding between our bodies.

My eyes rounded as I felt the swell of his member inside me. I saw the colors. “Tim…” I struggled against his body. It confused him. It had confused me as well. A part of me wanted nothing more than to have him inside me, be one through this joint because whatever made us, had failed to make us one and we cry, we cling to each other in frustration. But a larger part in me, the rational part, the part that saw the colors and failed to admit to its guilt, warned me against it. This was the last thing we needed right now.

“Tim, pull out,” I said, panicky, and pushing him away.

“Baby, calm down, it’s alright,” he said, with his palm against my cheek. I was hearing none of it.

“Pull out!” I said, out of breath, shoving his chest at this point.

“I can’t! I’m knotted.” He struggled in my pull to be seated to get a grip on the situation before he kneeled tentatively while still inside me.

My eyes watered. “Just–“ I grabbed his hip and started pulling away. “You have to–“

“–you’re not in heat, it’s fine, I promise–“

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

My voice stunned us both. We looked at each other with round eyes and urgent breath. The blame was his, I was sure. He had control. This could have been ignored. I could swear he did this on purpose. He wanted to place his flag on me again. Tears of anger collected in my eyes. How could he do this to me? How dare he. I hissed, “I hate you…”

I was ready to kill myself if this were to happen again. And from the looks of it, so was Timmy. His eyes reddened in a second and his hand hovered in the air to touch me, beg me to take that back. But his hand dropped at his side. He gulped and rubbed away his tears with the back of his hand before they could fall. “Do you have lube?” he said calmly.

I shook my head. “Just pull out…”

“It’ll kill you.”

“I don’t care.”

“Anything, any sort of oil, or lotion, or… please, I can’t do this to you, Armie, please,” his voice broke. “Please. I beg you.”

I stared him down.

He nodded, took a deep breath. Spitting on our joined part and grabbing my hip, he started to pull out. His teeth bared, eyes clutched shut.

The pain… was excruciating. I had never been in so much pain my entire life. I pressed my lips together and whimpered as they trembled to let the screams out. My chest heavy, my throat about to burst. It was as though someone was tearing my penis off, and shoving burning rods inside me. The screams tore out of my throat before I took a pillow and pressed it over my face.

How long it took, I couldn’t tell. I was skinned alive. And I was sure I was bleeding.

When he took the pillow from me, I realized I hadn’t been breathing. My senses dulled. I couldn’t make out his face over mine, crying and apologizing. The pain paralyzed me. He caressed my belly soothingly but I felt nothing but the freezing fire.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept saying, holding my face and weeping.

He was the sanctuary that I had left for such a trivial thing as pride, and now I could never have this back. There was no rest for our scattered souls. We were to wander around in Tartarus for eternity.  
We held each other and wailed against each other’s mouth.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been struggling with the latter part of this chapter because my phone broke and I had the draft of the last few chapters on it because I am an idiot. So I'm still trying to remember everything, and being careful not to leave any loose ends. That is to say, this chapter was going crazy so I broke it in two. The chapter count has changed. Hope this is not becoming a drag.

He was in pain. I knew. His cock had tamed down, no longer swollen and red, gushing his essence out. It was pallid and lay limp on his thigh. My paw mark angry on the pale skin of his hip. His breathing was calm, staggering every once in a while as it brushed against my cheek, flowing placidly out of his slightly open pink mouth. Totally fucked out. He wouldn’t open his eyes, but he wasn’t sleeping. I knew. His hand resting tentatively on my waist, only taken off now and then to lightly massage his own groin. We lay facing each other. And every time I moved uncomfortably, he whimpered. Eyes still closed, mouth ajar. Only his hand moved. It traveled up to brush my hair, touch my cheek, wipe my tears, finger my mouth, caress my shoulder and chest and return to its place on the curve of my waist.

My tears had dried on the bridge of my nose and felt itchy. My eyes opened and closed on their own accord, lulling between a pain-stricken trance and the reality of the golden room.

Somewhere on the floor, my phone kept ringing. It was in the breast pocket of my jacket that I didn’t know where I had dropped. The ringing didn’t bother us. What was the point of picking up the phone? What was the point of anything anymore?

“We have to go,” I said, pushing air through my throat. Even to my own ears, I sounded weak and dying.

The hand returned to my face, the eyes didn’t open. He readjusted his head on the pillow and made a small noise at the back of his throat.

After a while, he said, “let’s go see a doctor.”

I opened my eyes. If I had the energy, I would have laughed. Instead, I said, “’m fine.”

I wasn’t fine. It still hurt. There was blood on the sheet. And cum. And I had no idea how I would get rid of it before somebody saw it. It was an insolent move to have sex on someone else’s bed, let alone bleed on it.

That made him open his eyes, but slowly. He stared at me lazily with dried tears and exhaustion in his eyes. His still wet lashes long and heavy. “Is the pain gone?”

I nodded. I lied. “I have to wash the sheet.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

…

He was shrugging his coat on by the time I found my other sock, which had somehow found its way under the bed. I took a deep breath in and let it out through my mouth before tentatively trying to sit down. An involuntary groan left my mouth, and I stood back up immediately.

“I’ll do it,” he said and hurried towards me.

“You don’t have to. I can–“

But he wouldn’t listen to me. He took my socks from me and kneeled by my feet. He held my ankle and put the sock on, one foot after the other, before reaching for the shoes. I wanted to protest, I didn’t need help with the shoes. But I let him do what he wanted for the moment. As he eased my foot into my shoe, he said in a small voice, “Can I ask you something?” Then he looked up at me with his large eyes.

I shrugged in answer.

“Would you have done it… if we were still together?”

“Done what?” The second it left my mouth, I realized what he was talking about. How could he be so cruel to me? My throat closed from the sudden bluntness of the question, goosebumps tightening my cheeks. My lips stiffened to hide their tremble.

I knew, even in this dark room, he saw it. He looked down, helped the other shoe on, then stayed in his position in front of me with his head hung. “I just wanna know. Because I can’t… with this guilt–“

“Guilt? _Your_ guilt?” I could laugh. “I am the one who decided to break up. I am the one who decided to kill our baby.” I didn’t care anymore that my voice sounded heavy, that he could hear it, that he had flinched at my wording.

“But you left because of _me_. I can’t sleep trying to pinpoint the moment you realized you’d had enough, how I could have stopped it from happening, how if I had just taken care of you more, you wouldn’t have left, and we would still be together, we would… we would have a family.” He breathed. “I made the mistake of thinking that I had you for life, and I stopped working on it. I thought you’d be there, always. Why shouldn’t you have left? The fault is really mine. You made the right decision, I know. You’re too wise to make a wrong decision. The way you are… you deserve so much more than what I had to offer. So, would you have?”

I nodded before he stood up. “Most probably, yes,” I forced myself to say. “But I guess I'll never know for sure. Maybe in some other universe, I don't hate myself as much and your world accepts me and we are happy together, enough to bring another person into the world. But I’m afraid it’s not this one.”

He held my cheek in his soft palm and whispered tenderly, “how dare you hate yourself?” as though it was a crime that I did. “Hate _me_ all you want, but never yourself.”

“I don’t hate you, Timmy,” I said blatantly. “I never can. You were the only person who would make me feel like I am not disgusting. When I would be with you alone, I could almost believe that I was an omega because I was _your_ omega. Without you, everything is out of balance. I couldn't carry a pup without you. It would’ve killed me. Because I don't feel like myself without you. I hate myself, I hate my body, I hate who I am because I know what people around me look at me like. Not you. Never you. And not to mention that I'm broke.” I laughed bitterly. “I was scared that if I carried, I would just give birth to another me. Another disgusting person who would hate themselves and will never find their mate because who would ever want to be with someone like me. And I don't wish that on my worst enemy.”

He was silent for a while. Then, “I would kill to make another human exactly like you.”

I shook my head. “You don't know what it's like. You'll never understand. The things I've been through... How hard it is to live with myself every day. I can't see my own child having to live through that.”

“I'll probably never understand that because I am not an omega. But this thing... This hate in your eyes for yourself, I see that. And for a while, it was gone, Armie. This... This is what stands between us. Not my career, not the world.”

I chuckled. “Yes, I am to blame for all this. I agree.”

His eyes were kind as ever. “I am not blaming you. I asking you to let go of the things that you hold against yourself.” He sighed with frustration. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

“What would I have seen? Tell me.”

“A kind, lovely, beautiful person. _My_ beautiful person. Divine. Someone I would kill for, I would die for. Someone I cry every day for in secret because one lifetime is not nearly enough and I can _feel_ time slipping through my fingers and I am scared shitless that I haven't had enough of you and that time will take you from me and you'll become mere mud and that is just not fair. You deserve to be preserved, worshipped, sacrificed for.”

“I’m not…”

“You are the smartest and the kindest and the most beautiful person I know.”

“You know what they say about imprinting…”

“That you can never love another…”

“ _That_ you never see their faults and worship them for no greater reason than for just breathing… You were so young when we met. I don’t–”

“There’s no scientific proof backing up that theory. I didn’t imprint on you, Armie, I love you. And I can’t stop.” He closed his eyes in desperation and I could feel him shaking trying to stop himself. But he couldn’t and leaned in to desperately press his mouth against mine. “Come back to me, Armie… _please_ ,” he whispered.

I hated myself for being the subject of yet another anguish. “No,” I said. “Not now. Not now.”

“Please… what do I–”

I smiled. “The trouble is, this is tempting because all I see right now is you, bare in my arms. But the second you leave this room, you are no longer my Timmy.”   
He opened his eyes to look at me. “If you can’t cope up with different dimensions of someone’s personality that is not really my fault, is it?” he said, with no barbs in his tone. “No matter what I give up, it will never be okay.”

“Then this is not such a good idea.”

“Just… come back to me, and we’ll figure things out, it’ll all be okay. Please. I’ll do–”

“I can’t, I can’t. Not after–”

“–anything, I promise–“

“I can’t. Stop, _stop_ , please–“

“–I’ll do anything you want, please –“

“–Timmy, please, stop–“

“–please–“

“–please–“

“–I even quit –“

“Arms, you in there?” came Nick’s voice before two taps followed on the door.

I jerked away from Timmy and immediately missed his warm touch, our bodies brushing against each other, the familiarity, the sense of coming home. Gathering myself, I yelled back. “Yeah?”

“What’re you doing, you gotta come down, man, Elizabeth is going nuts. She won’t cut the cake until everybody’s there.”

Timmy grabbed onto my sleeve as I started towards the door, his last endeavor. I freed my hand and I opened it as much as it was necessary to slip out and closed the door behind me so Nick could not see Timmy inside.

“What–“ Nick’s expression changed as soon as he looked at me. I furrowed his brow. “Are you feeling okay?” he said worriedly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I offered him a tight smile. “Let’s just go downstairs.”

“No, wait, man, seriously, if you need time... you look sick. I’ll handle Liz, don’t worry. You go and rest–“

“Stop fussing. I’m fine.”

A thud was heard from behind the door. Nick’s eyes traveled to it and I saw realization dawn on him. I looked at anything but Nick. There was nothing I wanted to say or explain to him.

“Nick, please, just… let’s go.”

He was hesitant still, but calmer. “Is he okay?” he asked kindly.

I nodded. Was he okay? I didn’t know.

Every step, every movement was agony. Timmy had patched up my knee again so it would not scratch against my trousers and that made it even worse. But there was nothing to be done about the other wound. I couldn’t sit, but I danced with Elizabeth when she asked, biting the insides of my cheek.

He never came back to the party. And when I went upstairs to retire for the night, he was no longer there. He had left.

Perhaps in some part of his mind, he still had hopes that we would reconcile someday or at least after what happened tonight – that might have even sparked a new hope. He wanted to be free of the guilt so he could ask again. If I didn’t want the baby even if we were together, then getting back together didn’t harm anything. But I didn’t know if it was true. What of my guilt? How could I get rid of it? Everything was clear on his end, not mine. I didn’t know and I couldn’t think. And nothing else had changed. Why would I get back to him if life would still continue to be torture? The pain surged with regenerated anger again and again as my tired mind dragged me to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter to go.
> 
> not edited

He had every right to blame me for this. But I wanted him to know that if I could reverse it, I would. The last thing I wanted was to ruin his career. That was why I had left. I had given up everything, my all to make sure his career stayed intact. Because I knew what it meant to him, because I knew how soul-killing it is to not be able to do what you’re passionate about. I knew. A bright soul like him, it would numb him and eventually kill them. And now everything was about to end and I was the one to blame. It is one thing to ruin your own career, and another to see your loved one’s crumbling down because of you. I did not know how many tests I could be put through. I wanted to leave everything and run. I was also prepared to give my life if it meant Timmy’s would be safe.

I paced the length of the room, worrying my nails. Timmy was on his way and I did not know what to say to him, had no idea how to tell him how sick it all made me. But I wasn’t given much time. He burst into the room before I could come up with something rational or a practiced speech. And as soon as I saw his worried eyes, I blurted out, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Tim…”

* * *

That morning when I had woken up, my whole body was burning and in pain. I was freezing. I ripped the bandage off my knee and kicked my leg out of the cover. The wound was oozing liquid. I was parched and when I gulped down my own spit, it tasted like vomit.

It was Nick who had brought the news. I was so out of it that it had taken me a while to realize that Nick had woken me up. My mouth open, my eyes crusty, and my breath hot. I’d whined pathetically under the cover as he sat down on the floor to face me. He’s seemed way too close for me to face him with sleep in my eyes. I’d rolled onto my back and once again was reminded of the events of last night, but also, the dull, gnawing pain of the whole of my body.

“You still look like shit,” he had greeted.

“Thanks,” I’d said, eyes still closed, covered to the chin with blankets. “What time is it?”

“Twelve seventeen.”

“Shit…” How the hell had it been this late and I was still tired. “Can you get me a painkiller or something? I didn’t bring any.”

He’d looked at my knee poking out of the cover. “You don’t need painkillers for that. I can clean it if you want. Wear shorts, let it breathe, you’ll be fine”

“I think I have a fever.”

“Yeah?” he’d said, taking my temperature. “How much did you drink last night?”

I shook my head. “Just wine. I… I’m bleeding… again I think. I thought it’d stopped.”

He’d checked my wound again. “No, it’s just drainage.”

“Not there.”

Nick had only frowned.

I’d look up at the ceiling and sighed. “Last night, I… I made him pull out.”

Nick’s jaw had hung loose. “Timmy?”

I’d nodded.

“Are you a fucking masochist?!”

“Nick, please, just– Don’t make a fuss, okay? Just give me something so I can go home tomorrow.”

“It needs more than painkiller, asshat.”

I’d tsked.

“Look…” Nick had hesitated. “You haven’t checked your phone, have you?”

“Today?” Nick nodded. “No. Why?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you this now seeing how sick you are but there’s… you’re gonna know eventually... and I don’t know–“

“Get to the point, Nick.”

“Some young cousin of Jack’s posted a selfie with Timmy at the wedding.”

“So?”

“First of all, you should know I asked Jack to get his cousin to delete it. And he did that as soon as he could. So, don’t worry.”

My brows furrowed. What was he talking about?

“But there are some stuff that I don’t know what I can do to help with. So you might wanna… I’ll do it if you don’t want to, but you really need to contact Timmy about it. I don’t know what to do. I don’t understand these things. I don’t know if Timmy’s doing something already. I just want to make sure that you’re not dragged into this shit for him again. And I didn’t wanna contact him without asking you first again ‘cause I know you’ll get mad. So –“

“About what? Why would I be involved?”

“Right…”

After much hesitation, Nick had told me the whole story. He actually didn’t have to, the articles online were very thorough. What the cousin’s picture had sparred was another of those tabloid investigations. That old picture of Timmy and I checking into a hotel had resurfaced again, used as bait. The cousin’s picture instigated inquiries: _whose wedding was it? Where was it? Why is Timothee Chalamet there?_ It didn’t take them much time to trace it back to me. _It was Elizabeth Chamber’s wedding. Who is Elizabeth Chambers? Model, journalist, entrepreneur,_ and _one of the closest friends of the notorious Armie Hammer. Why was Timothee Chalamet at Armie Hammer’s best friend’s wedding?_ The old picture, along with the rumor was the answer. _Are they just friends from that movie they were supposed to make with_ I Am Love _director, Luca Guadagnino? Perhaps. But then, where is Rina Figgins? Wasn’t Chalamet allowed a plus one? Poor guy!_ _But here’s the real tea. Months prior, a long narrative was posted online dividing Chalamet fans. The anonymous source had raised a storm, swearing that they had seen Hammer and Chalamet in a hospital together, hugging, (get this!) in the_ _obstetrics-gynecology section_ _. Without any pictures as evidence, of course, this news was dashed away as just noise. But some fans have held onto that and have dug out the proof that Hammer too was present at Chamber’s wedding. With Oscar season soon approaching, perhaps it’s time you came forth with some explanation, Mr. Chalamet._

* * *

Timmy kept looking at me worriedly.

Behind him, Nick cleared his throat and gave me a decisive look that I could not decipher before he closed the door and left us.

Timmy frowned. “Are you okay?”

What was he talking about?

“Nick said you had a fever, and…”

“Oh, yes, yeah, I’m fine. But… fuck, Tim, I’m so sorry.”

“What are you –?”

“This could have been avoided.”

“What?”

I took a step back. He had no clue what I was talking about, did he? “What did Nick say to you?”

“That you were sick and you wanted to talk to me.”

Fuck, Nick… “No, it’s…” I took my phone and found one of the many articles. “This.” I handed him the phone.

He took it from my hand and skimmed through the first few paragraphs with furrowed brows.

“I’m sorry,” I said again in a small voice, flustered. “If I hadn’t… if I didn’t need you at the hospital, this wouldn’t have been– Even the thing about yesterday’s picture… you wouldn’t have come– Everything is just… it’s all my fault. Just tell me– I know Karen is biting your head off, so just tell me what you need me to do. I’ll do it. I don’t want you to have to sacrifice anything for me. I’d rather die than see that happen. I’ll do anything.” 

How different our stance was from last night. Me, flustered, apologetic, and desperate. Him, stoic and confused, and perhaps hating me even.

But then he looked up and simply shrugged. Handing me the phone back, he simply said, “it’s fine.”

“What?”

“It’s okay, I don’t care.”

I straightened my back. “What do you mean you don’t care? You do care. You care too much. That’s why we’re here.” I was being cruel, and I only realized that when I saw him casting his gaze down and leaning against the wall.

“How’s your knee?” He looked at my exposed calf.

“Fine,” I said through a frown.

“And… did the bleeding stop? Nick said he took care of–”

“Yeah, Tim, you… you didn’t know? About this?” I point at the phone.

“Some people texted me some links. I didn’t open them. They’re always sending me stuff.”

“And Karen hasn’t got to you yet?” That seemed unlikely. She was fast, smart, and very good at what she did. That was why Timmy had kept her for so long. “Karen, Stuart, the others… are they taking care of it?”

“Yeah, well, I kinda… I let her go.”

This took me a second to digest. “You what?”

“I let them go.”

“You _fired_ them?!”

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that.”

He never really was very fond of Karen. Nevertheless, Karen was a good manager, the best. She came with the highest recommendations. And the rest of her team as well. They were smart, hardworking, and most importantly, not afraid of doing anything in order to secure Timmy’s success. No wonder Timmy held the position he was in now. Talent alone wasn’t enough in this industry.

“So who’s taking care of things now?” I said.

“No one.”

My jaw dropped. “What…? Timmy you… why didn’t you hire someone–? What does Brian say?”

“That I’m an idiot.”

“Timmy, you don’t have a manager, a– a publicist?”

Timmy simply shook his head. “I don't have anyone anymore,” he said without meeting my eyes.

“Is that... Because of me?”

Timmy only shrugged.

My heart dropped to my stomach. I didn’t know if it was all the meds in me or what. I felt dizzy, overwhelmed. Clutching my hair with both hands, I thudded against the wall. “Jesus... I am to blame for everything, aren't I?”

“Stop,” Timmy came to me, held my wrists, and eased them down. “Don't say that. It’s not your fault.”

“But it is.”

“I just... I don't feel like doing it anymore.”

“Doing what?”

“Working.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Timmy, you love it.”

“Nothing is the same anymore.”

“What do you mean? I left so you wouldn't have any obstacles in your way. I fucking left you ‘cause that was– that was better than you having to compromise your career”

“Is that what you thought would happen? It didn't occur to you that I might self-destruct? That, that the main reason I loved what I did was because I had someone to make proud of me, and after losing that very reason to live, I would hate acting and would suck at it because I have nothing to pull from, no energy left in me to make up these characters that seem ridiculous to me now? So don't pretend you left for my sake only, Armie, because it destroyed me.”

I gulped. Yes, the blame was mine, I knew. I couldn’t win in any way. “You quit the film in London, didn’t you? That’s why you didn’t go back.”

He nodded. “I was kinda fired when I kept asking them to postpone the shooting. The director was having a difficult time getting the performance out of me anyway, so…”

“You broke contract.”

He nodded.

“They can sue you?”

“They didn't.”

“It must have cost you a fortune.”

He shrugged. “I couldn't face you after that. It’s because of this that you left. It’s because of this that you thought we couldn’t have a family. And if I had just done this before, you wouldn't have left and we would have our–”

“You do realize then that you've ruined your career? Nobody's gonna offer you work now, and I... I can't take...” I shook my head. “First the baby, now this. And you're telling me all this was for nothing? You just go ruining everything without even thinking about the sacrifices we’ve made. I can't live with this guilt anymore. Oh god... I should just fucking– “

“Stop! Don't say another–”

“How could you do this? Your work was everything to you.”

“No, Armie, it wasn't. It never was.” He touched my cheek and forehead. “You still have a fever.”

“Please don’t touch me” He took his hands away. “Just... Let me be alone. And don’t contact me ever again. I am _done_ with this. There is no fucking way that I can fix this. There is no way that I can get back what I lost…” Moisture gathered in my eyes but I did not let them slip down.

“Don’t be like that, please, Armie.”

“Every time I look at you, I will be reminded of the pup I killed for _nothing._ Just… just go, Timmy. Leave. And if you want to be happy again, if you truly want what's best for us right now, then stop chasing me. I'm tired. I want this to end." I breathed heavily as I watched him walk to the door, defeated. Surely he must have known that this was how it would end.

But then he stopped, his hand on the doorknob. And without turning around, he said, “You know, I thought long and hard about this after what happened last night. And I’ve figured it out. I know why you won’t allow yourself to be happy. But life is not mathematics, Armie. Nothing will come out of you punishing yourself. And if you can’t learn to forgive yourself, you’ll never even know what it is that you’re looking for. You'll always hate yourself. You’ll keep breaking yourself and those around you." He looked up at me. "I won't contact you if that brings you pain. But I haven’t given up.”  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special too.” - Ernest Hemingway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huh this is the end
> 
> Just to be clear, "killing the baby" is how the characters phrase it. This, or anything else in this story, does not reflect my (the author's) view in any way :) 
> 
> Last chapter for real this time. Let me know if the ending is disappointing.

**15 months later**

“Happy Birthday, dear!” came a female voice.

The shrill sound of my ringtone had disturbed my slumber. It must have been early, way too early. My head heavy with incomplete sleep, I had taken the call without opening my eyes or looking at the caller id.

The voice was forcefully cheery. It hit me like a bucket of ice water and woke me up completely.

“Mom…?”

“Honey, how are you?”

“…Fine.” I was still in shock. “What are you… why are you calling me?”

“I thought I would wish you a happy birthday.”

“Mom… we haven’t talked in years.”

She breathed from the other side.

“I’m surprised you even remember.”

“Of course, I do. I remember every year. I’m the one who brought you into this world, remember?” She forced a laugh. “Dad and Viktor send their regards,” she said, trying to dodge the heavy talk.

“How are they?”

“They’re well. Viktor is really busy with the little one,” she chuckled. “Or I would have gotten him on the phone too.”

Lies.

At this point, I didn’t much miss my parents. But sometimes I did wish my brother and I were on speaking terms. He was still my baby brother to me. And the image of him having a baby of his own now, with my mother there to help them – it burnt into my skull and wouldn’t go away.

“And dad?” I said.

“He is back in Cayman again. He sends his love. He wanted to call…”

I stayed silent for a while, daring her to finish that sentence. This play made me uncomfortable. “You don’t have to keep lying, mom. It’s okay,” I said calmly.

“I’m not–“

“Mom, please.”

She sighed. “Maybe you can come visit us sometimes when he is around.”

That was the last thing I wanted to do. I could never look at my father and face the disgust, discomfort, and anger he held in his eyes for me. “Maybe,” I lied.

The call lasted about twenty minutes. Sooner than I had expected, we came out of the strict civility to being moderately comfortable. She said she worries for me. Then I didn’t know why she never before tried to reach out. She asked about my accommodation, my financial state. And as was her old habit, offered me money. Sympathy is a strange thing; it makes you feel good about yourself by feeling bad about others. But at least the disgust that was almost always present in her voice before had somewhat disappeared now. I guessed age did that to people. I hesitated to admit it, but it did comfort me. It spread warmth in my chest that had been missing for a while now.

“I might come to New York next month. Can you come get me from the airport? Then we can maybe have lunch together.”

I smiled. “Sure.”

“Okay. Have a good day, then. Bye.”

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yes?”

I thought for a second. “Thank you for calling.”

“No, honey. I’m sorry it took me this long.”

An arm curled around my waist from behind. A kiss on my bare shoulder. “Your mom?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, it was actually kinda nice. You gotta leave, my friends are coming,” said I, checking my texts. Nick wrote _‘ready or not, here we come!’_ I knew what was about to happen, the same thing that happened almost every year. Nick, Tyler, and this year Elizabeth were about to burst into my apartment and drag me to brunch. Perhaps Nick’s boyfriend was to join us this year. Usually, I spent the day with my friends, my night was reserved for someone whom I hadn’t seen for decades it seemed like. This year, my night was alone.

“And I’m not invited?”

“No,” I said smiling.

“I’m not your friend?” he said, making me turn and lie on my back so he could look at me. A mischievous smile on his face.

“From work.”

Henry rolled his eyes and jabbed my shoulder. “Invite me.”

“Hey!” I said through a chuckle.

“Invite me.”

“Don’t you already have an appointment?”

He shrugged.

“I would have to explain this weird thing to my friends and I’m really not up for it right now.”

“Then make it un-weird.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. It was just his habit. Every once in a while he would ask me to make it official but never actually mean it. We were better as friends. “Does the Old Town guy know you propose to me every week?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Hammer.”

“What happened to that one anyway?”

He scrunched up his nose. “He wanted to top.”

I jerked with laughter. “Okay, how does this sound? I’ll take you out for drinks this Friday as compensation. And then maybe you can give that topper a second chance. But now you really have to leave. Nick will be here any minute now. Fuck… stop that,” I hissed, my eyes closed, but did nothing to actually stop him.

As soon as I asked him to leave again, his hand had traveled to my groin and started its slow torture. “Happy birthday,” he whispered into my ears.

I let out a groan.

“Why am I not invited to your party?”

“It’s not… it’s not a party. Just brunch.”

“And after brunch?”

“After brunch, nothing. Jesus… fuck…”

“Then let’s go for drinks _tonight_.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“My night is reserved.”

“You–“

The ringing of his phone cut him off. This time he did stop.

“It’s Colette,” he said before haphazardly putting his clothes on and walking out of the bedroom.

Lying flat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, I listened to the conversation between the father and daughter. _Daddy, can you come pick me up? Granny won’t let me have the doughnuts you left,_ complained his four-year-old. Her voice still baby slurred. I heard Henry chuckling.

_No junk food before breakfast, honey, you know the rule._

_But I don’t want cereal…!_

_How about you have some omelet first and then you can have a doughnut when I come to get you later. Does that sound good?_

_As many as I want?_

_As many as you want and more._

_Love you, daddy!_

A silent tear slid down my face.

* * *

The evening, I wanted to myself this year. Perhaps allow myself a pint of vodka. I didn’t care for birthdays. They didn’t mean much after your teen years and meant nothing after you crossed thirty. I declined my friends’ offer to go out. The last couple of years, the night was either spent among friends – drinking, dancing, and partying that went on until dawn – or spent on a beach – private tour, grabbing street food in the dark that made us both sick the next day, a drag of a joint, a bottle of wine – until it got too much and we weren’t allowed to do it anymore. My want of being alone tonight wasn’t to reminiscence. I didn’t think I deserved to celebrate a day dedicated solely to myself. There was nothing to celebrate about me. Why waste other people’s evenings.

I poured myself a glass and turned on my laptop for some Netflix. Halfway into a documentary, my phone rang. The caller id surprised me. Was I to receive a call from every lost-connection today?

“Hello,” I said.

“Ahh, Armie,” came the thick Italian drawl of Luca Guadagnino.

I hadn’t heard that voice in more than six years. Apparently, he did not call to wish me a happy birthday. He had no idea, it would seem. He called to tell me that he was in New York and asked if I could meet him for lunch the next day. It was a Sunday, so I said I would love to catch up with him.

Of course, as soon as I saw his name flash on my phone, my mind was immediately dragged back to Crema. How young we were. How happy to be in love for the first time. My broken image of myself mending slowly, and his innocence not yet marred by the cruelty of this world he had chosen. How I was Oliver and he was Elio. Luca, that movie, the Italian countryside – these will always be enamored with not just the memory but that sense of utter elation that was given to us once only. I thought of the simple straightforward text I had gotten from him this morning. _‘Happy Birthday, Armie.’_

This was the first time in months that I allowed myself to let him in my mind. It had been more than a year. He had kept his promise. He didn’t contact me. The media wasn’t as cruel to him as it was to me, thank God. Most of the people were sorry to lose such a talent; they mourned his early retirement. People were sympathetic even. They respected his decision. Some blamed all those gossip articles, some defended me, some pointed out how wrong it was to speculate such a young person’s private affairs and try to expose his personal life. But none of that mattered now.

The doorbell rang. “We’re not letting you mope around alone on your birthday,” said Nick. I laughed. “If you wanna mope, we can join.”

* * *

“No, no,” I said shaking my head, a bitter smile on my face. “This can’t happen. I’m sorry.”

Luca sat languidly on the padded chair, one leg over the other, completely at ease and unbothered by my rejection. “Why?” he asked simply.

“ _Why?”_ I wanted to be blunt with him.

“I don’t understand it. Help me to.”

“I have a list of obvious reasons, which one do you want to know first?”

Luca smiled, finding my tamed outburst entertaining.

“I haven’t been in a film for nearly a decade and now you want me to take on this intense role, that’s ridiculous.”

“Why is it ridiculous? You were supposed to play it before. Why would I change the cast?”

“I don’t have an agent or anything. I’m not an actor. I don’t even know if that ‘actor’ muscle works anymore.”

“Of course, it does. You’re talented. It is not a muscle, it is art.”

“Well, art needs practice.”

“All you need to do is understand the story and the character which I know you can do because I’ve seen your work.”

I sighed. “It’s impossible. I’m sorry, Luca, you’re gonna have to cast someone else. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“If I wanted to cast someone else, I would have made this film six years ago. I can’t see anyone else playing Elio and Oliver, it just won’t work. And I don’t make imperfect movies.”

I sit back and look at the carpet under my feet. “You haven’t changed any of the cast, have you?”

“Of course, not.”

“I thought he… I thought he retired.”

“Timothèe, quit acting? Impossible. He is the one who came to me.”

I looked up. “What?”

“Yes, he decided to be one of the producers and urged me to work on this after I finished Suspiria. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t. That’s another thing. I… it didn’t end well between us. There’s no question of me getting back into acting. I don’t want to drag your name down with mine. I’ve already ruined his. And even if I wanted to, it would be impossible to work with him.”

Luca put a hand on my arm. “If you say no, this movie won’t happen because I think it’s quite impossible to capture what Elio and Oliver have without you and Timothèe. I doubt anybody else understands these characters like you do or has that beautiful dynamic.” He paused. “Take time, okay? Take the script home, read it, contemplate all the options, and then reply.”

I walked home with the heavy script in my hand that evening and wept as I read. It was still as beautiful as I remembered it to be. Not sad. Never sad. The sadness was the past tense in which it was written.

I give myself a week’s ultimatum. By the end of the week, I must have an answer. And when the next week arrived, I was surer than I was a week ago. It was impossible, unthinkable to do this with Timmy. I would break myself and those around me, as he had said.

I really wished that Luca was exaggerating about canceling the whole project should I say no. That seemed impractical. So after work that Thursday, I called Luca and asked if he was free. I did not want to be a coward and refuse through a text. I owed him that much. He said he was at his hotel with some friends who he had dinner plans with but I was invited to join. So I went straight up and knocked at the door, hoping to God he’d given me the right room number. I heard soft classical music coming out through the closed door. Chopin. Footsteps approached. I clutched the script in my hand tighter. I was going to return it.

The door opened and before me stood the person upon seeing whom, I realized how parched my eyes had been for even a glimpse of him. His mouth caught in a retracing smile, a glass of wine in his hand, his eyes warm yet frozen on my face. I stared back at him. The stilled smile stretched into a hesitant one and his eyes rested into slits. He was not as surprised as I was. I hadn’t seen that face in more than a year. “Armie,” he said simply, an acknowledgment. He looked even younger somehow. How was that possible? His hair was shorter, much shorter. The tiny ringlets barely curling around his earlobe. His eyes bright even in this dimly lit room.

“I’m here to see Luca,” I blurted out.

“Yeah, he’s over there, giving a lecture on… I dunno what, you know how he is,” he said, chuckling nervously. His eyes fixed on me, unmoving, round, and a little dazed. “Come in. He just invited us up before we go to dinner.”

So there were more people. I could hear them, the light grumble of their mingled voices, the slow music. And when I tentatively walked in, he closed the door and walked beside me to guide me to Luca.

“How are you?”

“Good. Fine. You?”

“Yeah, good.”

Luca’s gaze landed on me and his eyes brightened. “Armie, _dai, dai_! Let me introduce you.” He took me by the shoulder and took me to the men he was talking to. I spared a glance at Timmy. Still dazed, sipping on his drink, staring at the back of my head. “This is Armie Hammer,” said Luca specifically to the one man I did not recognize. Of course, I knew Peter and Brian. “And this is Howard Rosenman, he joined us last month.” I smiled politely and shook hands with everyone, but really I felt bad to disappoint them again. I wanted to tell Luca that I wasn’t here to join his party, and leave as soon as possible.

Finding a good time, I told him in a small voice. “I need to talk to you.”

He took me to the veranda.

* * *

“Luca, Peter wants you,” said Timmy, holding the door of the veranda open.

Luca sighed, and patting my back, he got into the room with the script in his hand. “At least stay for dinner?” he asked me.

How could I repeatedly say no to him? I nodded, my elbows resting on the railing. He left.

“You just said no, didn’t you?” came Timmy’s voice. He hadn’t left. I looked back as he stepped into the veranda. “He’s not a graceful loser.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s…” He fell silent. Then, “You know, I won’t make it hard for you. I promise. If that’s the reason, I mean,” his voice still sounded polite, friendly. “I’ve kept my promise before, haven’t I? I’ll be professional.” He smiled.

I smiled back. “I’m sure you will be.”

“Won’t you reconsider?”

“I already have.”

“Shame.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone actually talented enough to tackle this role. Some genius who is perfect for Oliver.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“What about Shia LaBeouf? Didn’t James originally want him for the character?”

“Hmm. He’s a great actor. I also think James is losing it.”

I snorted. “You really shouldn’t say that.”

“I mean, come on. Shia LaBeouf? Really?!” he tried to contain his laugh, as though we were two disobedient school boys making fun of our teachers. I felt like we were back in Crema, six years ago. Perhaps we should have stayed friends instead. We both would have been happy. We were better friends than lovers.

When we recovered, I said, “can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“Promise you won’t make it all dramatic.”

He rolled his eyes.

I chuckled. “Actually you don’t have to reply at all. Just listen and nod.”

“Enough already!” he said, exasperated.

“Now that we are past all this… I’m sorry if you felt like I blamed you for anything. None of it was your fault.”

His smile shifted into a tight smile as he nodded. “Neither was it yours.”

“I told you not to reply.”

“You didn’t make me swear.” A shit-eating grin. “You’ve changed.”

“Yeah? Well, I guess I have. I’m more at peace with myself I feel like, however pretentious that sounds. I go to therapy.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, it has helped a lot.”

“Yet you haven’t forgiven yourself for the abortion.”

The bluntness and sudden change of tone gave me whiplash. How could he tell? He still didn’t know his boundaries. But if we were friends again, perhaps we should put these out of our ways. Now, out of that chemical haze, it was easier. “I have.” I lied.

“Good. Now that I’m working again, you should. Your sacrifice didn’t go to waste. No regrets,” he said, looking up at the sky, smiling contently before taking another sip from his glass.

“When did you decide to start working again?”

“Aciman’s book. I picked it up again a couple of months ago. I had almost forgotten how beautiful it was. So I got in touch with Peter and Luca. They still didn’t have enough money so I decided to help in that area should Luca think I was too old to play Elio. And I really wanted to see this movie. I had to be a part of it in any way possible.”

I grinned. It was nice seeing him smile, seeing him being spritely and cheerful like before. “I told you. You love what you do.”

“I do.”

“You don’t look too old for Elio. Not at all.”

“This haircut help.”

“When does filming start?”

“It was supposed to start in May, but now I don’t know. Can’t say until we find another Oliver.”

“Guess you should pick up your piano, guitar, and Italian lessons now.”

“Ironic, isn’t it? These three are your area of expertise. Maybe you should consider playing Elio.”

“Fuck you.” He knew I already look too old to be even Oliver, that little shit.

“Are you hungry?”

“Sorta.”

“Let’s go hurry these old men along. I’m starving.”

He walked me home that night. I told him perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea but he wouldn’t listen. He was right, he did keep his promise. I did not see the longing in his eyes, not for a second. I told him about my job. He said he wrote a bit now but it was all “shit.” Our laughter echoed like ghosts in the empty alley.

* * *

I was amazed at how much he had changed. He was an actual grown person now. And he seemed happy too. Then came the call. I remember thinking to myself that all this was perhaps a sham; he was a good actor. And it was bound to break. I almost didn’t pick up.

On his second attempt, I received the call, and sighing, said, “Timmy.”

“Are you free right now?” He sounded out of breath.

“I’m at work.”

“I need to tell you something. It’s important.” He was outside and perhaps walking, the sound of traffic kept breaking his voice.

“Go on.”

“No. I don’t think it’s a good idea to say it on the phone. I need to see you.”

I closed my eyes. Not again. I cannot. “Timmy, you promised,” I said through gritted teeth, as though for a fraction of a second I decided to take off this veil of civility and expose who we really were to each other even if it was to readjust that veil in a firmer position.

“No, no, I won’t… I swear. It’s about you.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“Just give me five minutes. Please. I’m already out of my building, just text me the address.”

“Okay, just… text me when you are here.”

I didn’t want my colleagues to know that Timmy still had anything to do with me. I was sure most of them didn’t know what had happened in my past. Even if they did, they were good enough sports to not mention it before me. So when Timmy texted me next, I rushed to the elevator, bumping into Henry on the way, who shouted “you owe me a drink tonight!”, and quickly slipped Timmy through the door and into the terrace, praying everybody was too busy working to lift their head up and see Timmy and I escape into the terrace.

As I bolted the door behind me, Timmy handed me a file. He was out of breath, in sweatpants. His hair a mess. His eyes wild.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Doctor’s report. Remember you forgot it in my car? I said I would get it back to you but I forgot. I never opened the file. I’d just stashed it away in a drawer. Last night… I was thinking… never mind. I found it and read it just before I called you. I’m such an idiot–”

“Stop.” I kept looking at him, blinking. Why would he bring this up again? This ghost had been haunting me for more than a year now. This was why I needed therapy and still failed at achieving what it was meant to do. This was why I rejected Timmy at the wedding, told him to leave. “Just stop. I told you to stop. You promised.”

“Armie, please, just read the thing.”

I opened the file and read the report. A couple of words highlighted. _‘Partial molar pregnancy’_ and _‘_ _dilation and curettage’._

I looked up at Timmy as realization dawned on me slowly. I did not want to presume. I wasn’t sure. “It says…” My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, my lips paralyzed.

I watched as the whites of Timmy’s eyes grew pink and moisture flowed in and a delicate drop slid down his ivory cheek. But he was smiling through it. My angel bearing news. He found my salvation. “The baby wouldn’t’ve survived. We didn’t kill our pup.”

My head hung. Too heavy. My hand flew up to clutch his elbow. I needed support. Timmy held my biceps and helped me lean against the wall behind me. He held my face softly and made me look up at him.

“The baby wouldn’t…” he said again.

“I didn’t kill our pup,” I repeated his words.

“No. Our baby had to go… had to…

My eyes burned and liquid blurred my vision. I fisted my shirt where it hurt like hell in my heart. A nailed knife there twisting and turning. His trembling lips put a wet kiss on my forehead as frantic sobs tore through my throat. “I didn’t...”

Timmy shook his head before I pulled him to me desperately and buried my face in the crook of his neck to stifle my hiccups. His arms wrapped around me and engulfed me into his embrace. All the veils between us burned down.

A black curtain had been lifted off my eyes and everything seemed foreign. I was ten pounds lighter. I had grown so used to nurturing this guilt and hate in me, that a sudden separation from it made me a stranger to myself. “Tim…” I said through hiccups. I couldn’t speak. “Timmy…” _Hold me tighter,_ I wanted to say to him. _Hold me until I stop shivering so I can taste your lips again. Because I can now. Hold me until I can remember who I was without this poison inside me. Help me remember who I was with you._ And he did.

* * *

* * *

_The End_


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